Anywhere You Go
by Anawey
Summary: After Christine rejected him, Erik wandered the streets and sewers of Pairs, lost and alone. Until he meets Renee, a little girl with nowhere to go; an outcast, like him. The Phantom decides it’s only right that outcasts should stick together, so he takes
1. Erik and Renee

Anywhere You Go

After Christine rejected him, Erik wandered the streets and sewers of Pairs, lost and alone. Until he meets Renee, a little girl with nowhere to go; an outcast, like him. The Phantom decides it's only right that outcasts should stick together, so he takes the child with him.

Disclaimer; I only own Renee.

When they sing, Renee's words are bold-ed.

Erik and Renee  
XxX

Good God, had it really been a year? Erik tended to lose track of the time more easily here than back in the old opera house. But it wasn't safe there, anymore. Ever since the building had closed, it had been abandoned. Someone had even set fire to the basements where Erik had once lived, so that now, even going near there was dangerous. Erik knew; he'd tried once, and had nearly been crushed when a beam all but fell on him.

He still thought of her, still loved her, but he hadn't seen her since that day when she'd chosen that simpering viscount. _He'd _shown Christine true love, and let her go. That Raoul didn't really love her, because he hadn't been able to give her up.

There was a noise from somewhere up ahead. Squinting to see farther up the dark alley in the late evening, he made out a very small figure, huddled into an even smaller ball. Curious, he walked forward, until he could make out the shape of a woman, lying beside a young child. The toddler looked up as Erik approached slowly. She looked at his mask for a second, then into his eyes, terrified, and heartbroken.

"Mama s'eep!" she sobbed. "Won' wake up!"

Something inside the Phantom clenched. _So young. So very young.... _The girl couldn't have been any older than three, and yet, there she was, sitting huddled in a dark alley, in a shivering little ball, while the mother's cold blood stained her tiny hands.

He had killed; he had tortured, threatened. But he was not heartless. He had never wanted to kill Bouquet, or Piangi; it lead too much attention back to him. This lost, forlorn child in front of him needed a care taker, or she would never survive. He understood what it was like to grow up without anyone to turn to; he would never wish such a curse on one so young. Kneeling, he gently pressed his hand to the little girl's face.

"You must come with me, little one," he whispered. "You will be safe. Do you know your father?"

The child shook her head.

"What is your name?"

"Wenee," she muttered, tearful eyes looking trustingly up at Erik. She was looking at him, not the mask. It was the first time since he'd met Madame Giry that someone had seen past that part of him. It was refreshing, to be trusted; to have someone not see the physical, but to look beyond that.

"Renee," Erik smiled. "I will take you home." He stood, Renee held carefully in his arms, and set off down the road. He pulled up a manhole cover on a side street, and climbed down into the sewer. He turned down a bunch of different paths, and finally came to a door. Pushing it open, he set Renee down, and led her by the hand into his home. It was built after the old place he'd had under the old opera house. Only here, there was more warmth, and a few extra rooms. A fireplace went up through the ground to a grate up above. A cheerful fire was crackling in the fireplace.

"This is where I live, little one," he explained softly. "It will be your home, as well."

Renee's eyes shone as she looked around the underground home.

"So...awe _you _my papa?" she asked innocently, blinking her round grey eyes.

Erik looked down at the child, eyes wide. It shocked him that someone so small could hold such capacity for faith and trust. He sighed, smiling faintly.

"Yes. From now on, I am."

-

-

Weeks had passed, and Renee was getting used to her life with Erik. The Phantom doubted, at her age, that she even remembered the recent death of her mother. Renee was a curious little girl; always investigating, and poking around. Twice, she'd nearly been hurt, and would have, had Erik not jumped in to stop her from whatever it was she was doing.

"Renee," he'd said, voice firm, but caring. "That was dangerous. You could be hurt, little one. Don't do it again." And though she was a wild spirit, Renee would listen.

She'd been there a year and a half when she first questioned Erik about his mask.

Erik had been playing his organ, teaching Renee to sing, when she'd stopped, looking at him.

"What is the problem, Renee, dear?" he asked. The three-year-old cocked her head to one side, then climbed into her papa's lap.

"Papa?" she muttered, gently reaching out to touch Erik's porcelain mask. "Why do you weaw a mask? Isn't they for pawties?"

For a second, Erik felt stricken. He'd hoped it would never come up, but then, with a child as curious as Renee, he probably should have expected a question like this at some point.

"Because Papa's face scares people," he said softly, closing his eyes against the memories of coldness, and callous disregard.

"Youw face is fine, Papa," Renee told him. And before Erik could do anything about it, like Christine, Renee reached up, and removed the mask from his face. Unlike Christine, however, the little girl did not shrink away. She just looked at him for a second. "Youw face is fine," she repeated, hugging the Phantom. "I luff you, Papa."

"I love you, as well, Renee, my angel," Erik sighed, returning the embrace.

-

-

The nightmares started when Renee was six; nightmares and visions of a man coming toward her and a woman; the man beat the woman wickedly, killing her slowly. In her dreams, Erik always came, but the man was still there, and more often than not, he managed to kill her papa, as well as the woman, and she would come running to his room in the middle of the night, screaming and in tears. Always, Erik would hold her close, telling her he loved her.

"Papa..." Renee sobbed against his chest as he gently stroked her hair to comfort her.

"Shhh, darling girl," Erik crooned, voice soft. His years of caring for Renee had changed him; melted his heart that had been cold nearly all his life. "Papa's here, little angel. Papa's right here."

".....papa....."

Erik tenderly kissed her head, smiling at the child he'd come to love as his own. She needed help to sleep tonight, as she always did when the nightmares came. So, like always, Erik would sing to her; soft and gentle.

_"Speed bonny boat, like a bird on the wing.  
Onward the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king  
over the sea to Sky._

_Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar;  
thunderclaps rend the air.  
Baffled our foes, stand on the shore;  
follow they will not dare._

_Speed bonny boat, like a bird on the wing.  
Onward the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king  
over the sea to Sky._

_Though the waves leap, soft shall you sleep,  
close in a royal bed.  
Rocked in the deep, Papa will keep,  
watch by your weary head._

_Speed bonny boat, like a bird on the wing.  
Onward the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that is born to be king  
over the sea to Sky._

_Carry the lad that is born to be king,  
over the sea....._

_to Sky."_

Erik never sang the last two verses to her; they were about war and death, and he intended to keep her as innocent as he could as long as he could. She was a darling girl, but with each passing year, he noticed she was beginning to look more and more like Christine. The resemblance was at once both painful, and a blessing.

She was still, and her sleep was calm when he held her. She was truly an angel. She had a pretty voice - Erik had taken care to train her every day, steadily making the practices longer as she grew older.

When she was seven, Renee caught a cold. Worried for his little girl, Erik put on his mask - ever since Renee had told him his face was fine, he hadn't worn the mask around her (there was no need; she accepted him as he was) - and took her up to the surface of Paris to find medicine. Hat pulled low over his face, cape collar up about to his ears, Erik wandered the streets, looking for any sort of medicine for Renee.

"Hush, darling," he whispered when she sniffled. "Stay calm and rest. I have you."

Renee nodded tiredly, clinging to Erik neck. To be trusted so wholly was still a bit new to the Phantom, but by now, he truly did love Renee. He wondered if this was what it was really like to be a father.

An hour later, Erik was beginning to wonder if he would find anything. In the end, though, he did, and Renee got better. A week later, however, and it was clear that the Phantom had caught her cold.

Renee tiptoed into her papa's room, cup of tea in hand for him. Erik was sleeping, so she set the cup on the bedside table, and went to get another blanket for him.

The Phantom was awake when she returned, and he smiled tiredly.

"Hello, darlig," he muttered congestedly. He reached out a hand toward her, and Renee went straight to his arms, then pulled back, and handed him the teacup before climbing up onto the bed, and tugging the blanket over him.

"Feeling better, Papa?" she asked worriedly.

"of gourse, liddle ond," Erik sniffed, coughing. He felt a tingle in his nose, and he held out a hand to keep Renee from coming closer (he didn't want her to get sick, again), the other hand, hovering in front of his face. "_HahKSHOOOO! Ehchshooo!" _Erik sniffled, internally wincing when he saw Renee's eyes widen, and brighten with tears. He reached out for her again, and pulled her close against him. "Id's alrighd by angel," he whispered, one hand gently stroking her dark hair.

"Papa, you have to get better!" Renee whimpered. Erik had been sick longer than Renee had, and he was a good deal sicker, as well. "I don't want you to be sick!"

"Shhhh, dear ond," the Phantom crooned hoarsely. "I'll be find. I brombise you, angel. I'll be alrighd."

Erik, of course, did get better. It simply wasn't an option for him not to, when he had little Renee to think about. He continued to train her voice, continued to love and care for her. She was the closest he would ever come to having a real family. Renee was never afraid of him. She never jumped at the sight of his face, never cringed, or looked only at the deformation. She always looked to his eyes, with trust and love.

-

-

Renee was eight when she came to him with a question. It was a question she'd only recently considered, as she'd never thought of it before, being so young.

She asked it later in the night, when they were sitting beside one another by the fire in the main room; Erik in his chair, Renee curled by his feet, smiling contentedly, eyes closed, though she was awake.

"Papa?" she asked softly. "Who was my mother?"

Erik froze. This could undo everything. What if she ran from him when she learned he wasn't truly her father? What if she resented him? But whatever the outcome, Renee deserved the truth.

"I did not know her," the Phantom whispered. "She.... was dead before I found you."

"You found me?"

"Yes, Renee," Erik sighed. "But that does not matter. I love you, as though you _were _my daughter. In my heart, you are, and you are mine. I love you, Renee."

"I love you, too, Papa," Renee said, climbing into Erik's lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. She didn't quiet understand it all, but her papa loved her. That was enough for Renee, even if he wasn't her father.

-

-

In time, he began another opera, 'The Angel's Daughter'. It was about his time with Renee, and he used it to train her voice. There were duets, meant for a man, and a younger girl, and together, they would sing. Erik loved Renee's voice. It was pure, and, in a way, embodied her innocence; innocence which he took great pride in. She was his, and he loved all of her.

_"Child of my heart; my life, my passion,  
You are my darling angel._

_**"Father, my heart, is yours forever,  
I am your loving daughter."**_

_"Child, my life belongs to you.  
I will protect you always."_

_**"And I am forever grateful,  
to your guiding ways..."**_

_"Angel of kindness, my sweet darling,  
Here in my heart, you belong."_

_**"Angel of Caring, you, my father,  
You are what makes me strong."  
**__  
"Angel of sweetness, you remind me,  
that there's a heart in me."_

_**"Angel of guidance, always with me,  
You guide my life gently."**_

_"Angel of mercy, I must thank you;  
you gave me a new chance,  
to make right the wrongs of my dark past.  
I am forever thankful.."_

_"I am forever thankful** (I am forever thankful)...."**_

"Pappa?" Renee asked, brown eyes looking trustingly into Erik's. Years had passed since she'd come to live with him. Now a young teenager, Renee had grown from a slightly clumsy toddler to a relatively graceful young girl. She giggled as she looked from him to the page, and back again. "This is about us, isn't it?"

Erik chuckled lightly, smiling fondly at his child.

"Yes, my sweet," he admitted. "It is."

Renee blushed slightly. "Will you sell it to the opera house?"

Erik's eyes turned distant. "Perhaps."

"Papa?" the thirteen-year-old muttered, looking concernedly at the Phantom. "Why do you never speak of the opera house? You said you lived there, but you don't tell me anything about it. Was it nice there?"

"....No."

He turned, and stood, leaving for his bedroom. Renee realized that she probably shouldn't have asked him about the old Opera Populaire, but she hadn't meant to upset him. She loved him, after all. He was her father, her dearest, best, and only friend. She rarely went above to the surface; it was noisy, and bright, and though there were beautiful things up there, she could think of nothing more beautiful than her home below ground with her papa.

The years for Renee in the relative dark of the sewer home seemed like heaven, for she had never known anything else. Often, Erik's face would turn wistful as he looked at her. He wished he could have given her a better life, but there was no way he could have been sure that she would be alright unless he was with her. They were both outcasts; him a scarred shaddow, she an orphan girl. Outcasts had to stand together; no one else would stand with them.

Renee didn't bring up the subject again. Erik reappeared a few minutes later, smiling tiredly, telling her that it was late, and time for young angels to be asleep. Renee loved her papa's affection, and pet names; it only reaffirmed that he did, indeed, love her as much as he often said.

Renee hugged Erik goodnight, and turned for her room, while Erik went back to his own. But something akin to doubt sparked in Renee's mind. Why didn't her father ever speak of his past? Why did he get so distant when she mentioned the opera house? What had happened to him there?

The teen fell asleep, wondering these things. Who had her papa been before she'd been born? Why were they alone?

Late one night, Erik started awake, gasping.

_Christine...... Renee.... _

In his dreams, he'd lost both of the only people who'd ever loved him.

Standing, he went straight to Renee's room. She was flopped across her bed, only her face, and dark hair visible beneath the blankets. The teenager slept, unaware of the blue eyes that watched her lovingly, and with a fatherly affection. Sighing, Erik crossed the room to the bed, and sat down, very gently smoothing back her long hair. Renee stirred, her expression falling into a tiny sleep-smile.

"Oh, Renee," he breathed, hand resting against her cheek. Renee shifted in her sleep again, murmuring.

"Papa....." she muttered quietly, curling into a ball. "...my papa....."

Erik sighed, and stood. She was still here, and she was still his. He slept peacefully the rest of that night.

In the morning, Renee woke slowly, stretched, and stood. Blinking, she dressed, and made her way out of her room to breakfast.

Erik was already there, sitting silently before a bowl of oatmeal. He looked up when she came in, and smiled.

"Ah, my young angel," he greeted, beaming at his child. "Good morning, Renee. How did you sleep?"

"Fine, Papa," Renee smiled, sitting beside him. She'd grown to a lovely young woman, now sixteen years old.

It was bittersweet to see Renee grow up. Sweet because she was maturing, and growing more lovely everyday, and he was so proud of her kindness, but bitter, because one day, he knew she'd find someone else to love. She'd go to the surface someday, meet a boy, bring him down to visit her father, and in time, she'd start staying away from her home longer and longer until she no longer lived there, but with a husband somewhere in a world were Erik did not belong, and could not go to. It broke his heart to think of losing his last remaining treasur; the only person who trusted him wholly despite his face.

"Papa?" Renee asked, gently touching his shoulder. "Are you alright? You suddenly went so pale. You're not ill, are you?"

Erik shook his head, brushing back a strand of Renee's brown hair.

"No, child," he assured her, smiling fondly. "Just thinking. You'll be leaving me soon. And though I don't want to lose you, you must be happy."

"But, Papa," Renee countered, looking worriedly at her father. "I am happy _here, _with _you."_

The Phantom's smile turned sad. "You say that now," he whispered, "because you have never known the love of someone your own age. I want you to find that love, my darling Renee. But I fear losing you - as every parent does. You are my child. It is in my heart to want to protect you."

"Papa, if I _did _earn the love of a boy my own age, I would take you with us!" the teen replied certainly. "I would never leave you alone. What if you fell ill, and there was no one to care for you?"

Erik smiled, and shook his head, cupping Renee's fine face in his hands, then gently leaning his forehead against hers.

"You truly are an angel, my darling," he sighed. He kissed her forehead and turned back to the bowls on the table. "Eat, my dearest."

Renee smiled, then dug in. She lifted her spoon from the bowl to her mouth, closing her eyes in thought as she chewed. She was hoping to go up to the surface today, later, but if there was anything wrong with her papa, she would stay. Erik was looking pale, and a bit unwell. They did not sing that day, which only made Renee more certain that something was truly wrong.

Lunch was silent, which was rare. The Phantom often asked his child about her books, or when she'd gone to the surface, how it had been. Today, however, he was just too tired. He'd been fighting the urge to cough all day, if only to spare Renee the worry. He knew she'd been planning on going to the surface, and he didn't want to keep her from that.

The urge to cough rose suddenly, and viciously. He reached for his teacup, but swallowing only aggravated his throat, and he coughed roughly, the tea he'd tried to swallow, splashing back out of his mouth as he hacked.

Renee gasped, and jumped to his side. She pounded his back, then rubbed it gently until the fit passed moments later.

"Papa?" she asked worriedly. "Are you alright now?"

Erik nodded, still regaining his breath. "I-I'm fine," he assured her. "I just swallowed more than I should have. Thank you for your help, my dear."

"It was not a problem, Papa," Renee replied softly. "You're _sure _you're not ill?"

"No," Erik lied. "Go on, sweetest. You said you wanted to spend the afternoon above. Just be home by nightfall, Renee."

"Of course, Papa," she agreed. "But if you're feeling poorly, I should stay with you."

"I feel fine, darling," the Phantom stated. "Go and enjoy yourself."

Renee smiled, hugged her papa's shoulders, and kissed his deformed cheek - softly and without flinching, which never ceased to amaze Erik.

"I'll see you later tonight, Papa," Renee said, walking toward the door. At the threshold, she looked back, worried about leaving her father. She was certain that coughing was more than just having swallowed more tea than his throat would allow. It was too rattly. But he had told her he was alright. Maybe he was just allergic to something, or it _was _just swallowing too much tea at once.

Erik sighed once Renee had left, one hand rubbing against his chest beneath his clothes. For some reason, the coughing had started an ache deep in his lungs. No, that wasn't true; he'd felt it yesterday, as well. He coughed again, the force making him bend forward in his seat. Perhaps he _was_ falling ill....

He groaned miserably when a pounding started up in his head. He wished he had thought to go up with Renee - he could have gotten some much needed fresh air - but she needed to go up alone, if she ever wanted to find someone to love her. Much as Erik loved Renee, it was a father's affection; she needed a husband, one day.

But for now, she needed to get home on time. She'd gone up alone before, but only for a little while, and never far. The whole afternoon was a bit of a stretch for Erik's nerves, and his protectiveness. He just hoped nothing would happen to her.

XxX  
First chapter. I hope you guys liked this. Erik may be a tad ooc, but this is in the future, and having a small child around really does change a person. Anyway, I do hope you all liked it, since this is my first Phantom fic. Review please! The song is basically the same tune as 'Angel of Music'.


	2. In the City

Moresha and her family, and Marcus are the only ones I own other than Renee.

In the City  
XxX

Renee pushed aside the grate, and climbed out into the alleyway. She shivered slightly, and drew her cloak closer around her shoulders against the cold winter air. Smiling - she loved the briskness of Paris winters - Renee wandered along the streets.

"Mama, mama!" a little boy chirped, pointing at a stand of toys. The mother took the boy's hand, muttering something about the _last_ toy she'd bought him, and Renee rolled her eyes. Erik had taught her to be happy with what she had.

An intoxicating aroma drifted on the breeze, and Renee followed it like a hound dog to a bakery stand. She sniffed, inhaling the delicious scent of a pumpkin muffin. She could see it sitting in the display case at the counter. She'd just had lunch, true, but it was only a single muffin. Grinning, she wandered into the shop to buy the muffin.

"What can I get for mademoiselle?" the woman behind the counter asked brightly as she approached.

"I'd like a pumpkin muffin, please," Renee said, smiling. The woman opened the case, and pulled out a muffin. She handed it to Renee as she passed the necessary amount of money, then turned with another grin, and left the shop, taking a happy bite of her muffin.

Renee wandered about for a while, rambling aimlessly up and down different streets, enjoying her time in the city. On a wall at a corner, there was a notice posted; _Soon to be produced by the Opera Populare; the new opera 'The Angel's Daughter'. _Renee smirked. Her father had had her come up three years ago to sell it to the opera house. He'd explained that, had it been any other opera house, without such memories as this one had, _he _would have gone up. But, as it was, there was something so painful for Erik about the place.

She didn't buy much more. Just a couple of books she hadn't found in her papa's library yet. She found a place to sit, and opened on of the books to read;

_Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a handsome prince in a shining castle. Though he had everything he could want, the prince was cold, and cruel. One winter night, and old beggar woman came to the castle's door, in search of shelter...._

Renee sighed. She hadn't read the book, but her father had told her the story of Beauty and the Beast many times. She loved it, really. The idea that even a monster could love, and be loved in return. It was exactly what her father always taught her; no matter who or what, everyone deserved kindness.

Her stomach growled, causing her to close her book, and put it back into the bag she'd brought with her from home. She stood up, and wandered off in search of some place to eat.

She found a small café on a side street that wasn't too crowded, and walked in, standing by the counter to wait to be seated.

A kindly older man beamed at her and led her to a seat, suggesting wine along with her meal as she scanned the menu.

"I'll just have some beef, please," she decided with a small grin.

"A fine choice, Mlle," the old man gushed. He trotted off, and returned a few minutes later with her food.

Renee sighed as she cut the meat, and brought a bite to her mouth on her fork. It was good food, but her papa's was better. But that was beside the point. The food was good, and she was hungry. And this place had fair prices.

She ate out on a porch behind the restaurant, overlooking a small river. It was peaceful, even with snow on the ground, and the trees dead. The stream was iced over, and a few children were skating on it. When she was done with her meal, she paid the waiter, and wandered down to walk by the stream.

It was nice, to watch the little children play. Seeing them reminded her of the time her father had brought her up to the surface one winter night, and taught her to ice-skate. She remembered holding his hand, wobbling, and falling over almost every other second.

But Erik had been gentle. He'd pulled her to her feet every time she fell, and explained to her how to slide her feet over the ice. She'd gotten the hang of it in time, and soon was confident, and excited.

Renee smiled fondly at the memory, deciding that she could spare a few coins to buy a pair of ice-skates (the pair she'd worn so long ago had long since been out-grown).

For a little while, Renee skated across the iced river, a bit apart from all the children. Noise and crowds were not her strong points, and she preferred her solitude. It was the way she'd been raised, she supposed, but she wouldn't change the past for anything if it meant she wouldn't have met her papa.

She skated a few figure 8's; nothing too complicated. She didn't want to look like a showoff. This was also where she'd learned to swim - also at night. She remembered her papa holding her as he explained how to paddle and kick. After a few minutes, she'd gotten the hang of it, and he'd let go. Renee had continued to swim until she'd realized he'd let go. She'd foundered, then, but he'd grabbed her before any harm could be done.

After a while, Renee grew tired, and left the river, tying the ice-skates together, and slinging them over her shoulder.

To her left, a man walked down the road, a small child clinging happily to his hand, swinging their arms back and forth. The man smiled, before a rattling coughing fit caused him to double over. In a moment it changed, and Renee saw her father at lunch that day, coughing harshly. He needed some sort of medicine to stop the cough before it turned into anything more dangerous (Renee had hardly believed him about having swallowed too much of his tea at once; she knew the difference between an almost-choked cough, and a sick-cough).

The teenager made her way back into the city, determined to spend at least a portion of her time above looking for something to help her papa.

She was halfway down a road at a market, looking at cough syrups for her papa, when she felt a light tug on her skirts. Looking down, she saw a little gypsy girl, with tan skin, light brown eyes, and black hair looking back up at her. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed at Renee.

"Please," she whimpered. "My papa's weally sick. Can you help – "

"Moresha!" A female voice scolded. "Leave the lady alone, dear. I apologize. My daughter is very attached to her father. He has a cold, and she's overly worried."

"It wasn't a problem," Renee smiled. "I'm close to my papa, too, Moresha. I hope yours will get better soon."

"Come to our fair?" Moresha asked eagerly, gripping Renee's hand.

"I'm sure she's busy, Moresha," the little girl's mother said quickly.

"Actually," Renee replied with a smile. "I don't have to be home until sundown. I have plenty of time. A fair actually sounds,.... nice."

She wasn't necessarily hesitant. These two had been rather kind to her. But her father had warned her about the dangers of gypsies. Renee would go with them to their fair, but she'd be very careful.

The fair was set up just outside the city. It was a pretty place; with brightly colored tents, signs telling what you'd see within.

The woman and Moresha brought her into their tent as a guest, and she met the father, Roan. He was definitely sick, and it was more than a cold. The older man was coughing wickedly, his skin pale, and sweating.

The woman knelt beside the man, gently taking his hand. Roan stirred weakly.

"Aisha.....?" he croaked feebly, coughing. Renee recognized some of the symptoms; the man was shivering terribly, alternating between that, and struggling to push away the blankets. He had a high fever, as was obvious from the harsh red flush across his face.

"W-who...?" Roan rasped, glassy eyes turning to Renee.

"This is my new fwend Wenee, papa!" Moresha beamed. Roan smiled weakly, and held out a hand to his daughter. The child hugged her father, then sat back.

"Why don't you show Miss Renee around the fair?" Aisha suggested. Renee saw through the attempt to get the little girl out of the tent for a while. Most likely to prevent her from falling ill as well.

Moresha nodded, and pulled her away, dragging her off to see the other sights of the fair.

Renee laughed, spending a few coins on games, and buying a wafle cone of icecream for herself, and Moresha, wo laughed brightly.

They wandered through the tents, seeing a bearded woman, who, Renee suspected, wasn't really a woman. In another tent, there was a dunking booth. Laughing, and smirking, Renee paid for three balls, and threw them one at a time. Two made the target, and she took a simple necklace as her prize, laughing as she let her young guide lead her into the animal's tent.

There was a lion in a large cage there, with a man holding a whip, and a chair. He pushed the chair at the lion to keep it at bay, and cracked his whip high in the air. The lion roared, and pawed at the chair, looking for all the world like a little kitten, playing with its master.

"The lion was bown hewe, back when we wewe in Gewmany," Moresha explained. "At least, that's what Mama says."

Renee nodded. It was a bit sad that any wild animal should be in a cage, but at least the lion didn't know what it was missing.

_Ignorence is bliss, after all._

Moresha pulled her away, and into a tent, going on about a devil's child. Curious, she wondered if there really was a demon in the cage before her.

"I feel bad fow him, though," Moresha admitted innocently. "Even though."

It was no demon in the tent. A boy sat in the center of the cage. There was a birthmark on the boy's chest, that looked _vaguely _like three sixes. There were scars on his arms, and back – from whips, most likely – that made him look fierce and inhuman, but Renee could see that he was physically small and slight. She felt tears well in her eyes at the sight of the boy. He couldn't have been much older than she was, and it looked like he'd been here for years.

Then he turned his face in her direction. He had lovely piercing green eyes, partially hidden by shaggy, scraggly bangs. His face had been spared the scars that marred the rest of his pale body, and it was soft and fragile-looking.

Indignation and anger rose like bile in Renee's throat. How anyone could do this to someone enraged her. Her father had taught her that everyone deserved, and was capable of, love. No one deserved to be put on display as a freak to be laughed at just because of something that made them different, like the small birthmark on the boy's chest that looked like the three sixes of Lucifer.

An idea formed in her head. She watched as other people threw coins to the man who tortured the boy for their entertainment, and felt the tears fall. She would not let this go on. She would get this poor boy out of here one way or another. There was no ways she'd let this continue.

Renee left the tent, and wandered around the fair, working out the kinks in her plan as she smiled sadly at caged animals, and tried to swallow back the bile that rose every time someone mentioned 'the devil's child'. She'd seen sadness, and pain in the boy's eyes. He'd looked so lost and helpless. And his build was so lean, and slim, that it wasn't likely that he could fight his way out.

When the last people made to leave, and the sun was about to set, Renee started her plan. She was cutting it close, she knew; she had to be home by true nightfall, or her papa would worry something awful. But she couldn't leave the boy. Surely Erik would allow him to stay.

She snuck back to the boy's tent, and crawled in under the back. She found his watcher asleep; drunk, if the empty bottle held loosely in one hand was any indication.

It was not difficult to remove the man's keys from his belt. He stirred once, startling Renee into a freeze, but didn't wake. Once she had the keys, she moved to the cage, and reached in to gently shake the boy's shoulders.

The boy started awake at the contact, looking up at her with wide jade-green eyes.

"It's alright," she whispered, careful not to wake the drunken gypsy. "I'm here to get you out. I know of a place where you can go, and be safe."

The boy didn't say anything, but followed her to the door. The key went in, and turned almost silently. But, as Renee opened the door, it creaked loudly, causing the gypsy guard to awaken.

"Hey!" he cried. "What do you think you're doing?!?!"

"_Run!" _Renee yelled at the boy, pushing him toward the entrance of the tent. She followed close behind him, but the gypsy managed to grab a hold of her cape, and pulled her back. He smacked her, hard. The boy returned, and helped Renee get away, then pulled her as far as he could from the place.

After a while, Renee was still seeing stars, and her vision was starting to fade. The gypsy had been really strong.

The boy watched as his rescuer's strength suddenly fell through the floor, and she collapsed. Renee would have hit the ground hart, if not for the boy. He looked at her carefully, felt her head for any sort of a bump, but it seemed she'd be alright. Gently, he lifted her into his arms, and set out to find some place safe to take her.

From what she'd said about some place safe, the boy wondered if she had someone waiting and worrying for her? But where? And how could he ever find her home with her unconscious?

The boy ran. He turned down any road that might lead away from the gypsies' fair. With the girl clutched in his arms, he moved slower, but there was no way he'd leave her behind after she'd saved him.

He turned down one ally, bumping into a police man. The man yelled, and started after them, but the boy kept running. He could hear the gypsy guard yelling something to the cop, and that apparently got him distracted from the two teens.

The boy stopped against a wall around a corner, panting, and holding Renee close. After a moment, he got his breath back, and continued on.

The girl he held was not heavy, but she wasn't light, either. He'd grabbed the pair of ice-skates when they'd started running, figuring they must have some value to the girl, and now they bounced uncomfortably against his shoulder. He could only hope they found some place safe soon. He couldn't do this forever, after all.

At one point, he started tripping in exhaustion. He fell, and Renee tumbled from his arms with a faint groan.

Pushing himself up on shaking arms, the boy crawled over to the girl. He looked her over, to make sure she hadn't been hurt. Then he pulled her into his arms, stood, and continued his run.

After a while, he found a building with a grate, and a room beyond, lower down below the level of the street. He carefully set his rescuer down, and pulled out the grate. Then he picked her up, and climbed down into the room, pulling the grate back into place behind him after laying Renee gently on the ground.

It was a small chapel room, with a stand for candles, and several small alcoves – one with a saint in it. The boy looked at his rescuer. She was a pretty girl, with long, deep brown hair. Her eyes, which he'd seen before she'd passed out, were a light, warm brown, as well. She had light skin, but it was clear that she was no fragile maiden.

Her cloak had fallen off when the Gypsy grabbed her, but it didn't matter, so long as they were both safe. Speaking of things that belonged to the girl, the boy grabbed the ice-skates off his shoulder and set them down.

He wondered suddenly, what the girl's name was, and why she cared enough to help him escape the gypsies. Gypsies. He couldn't say he'd miss them. Except for Moresha and her family; they were almost in the same position as he was. Moresha's parents were performers (the master of the fair was not kind to them, either). The father, Roan, had been worked beyond exhaustion, and his half-African wife had been left to care for him as he grew sicker almost every day, as well as their daughter. On top of that, poor Aisha was still expected to perform regularly, or they would be fired, and expelled from the fair, and their only means of living.

The boy, named Marcus (at least, that was what Aisha told him he'd told her when she'd found him as a small child) hated the thought of leaving his three friends – Moresha's family had always been as kind to him as possible – but he was glad he was free. He'd have to thank the girl when she woke up.

Renee stirred, and her eyes opened slightly.

"What's your name, girl?" Marcus asked softly.

".....Renee....." she whispered. "......we must find...... papa....."

"Shh, Renee," Marcus whispered. "You are exhausted. We'll stay and find your papa in the morning. Go to sleep. I'll watch out for you."

"...mmmmm...... name...?" Renee mumbled, already half asleep again.

"Marcus."

Renee nodded slightly as sleep claimed her again.

Marcus stayed awake, watching the girl curiously, noticing little things about her; like the ice-skates lying next to her, the book poking out of her bag; or how her eyelashes curled slightly at the end. She was pretty – to him, at least. But then, he'd never been helped by anyone her own age. She was his savior, and for that alone, she was beautiful.

But he was tired from the running, too. And he couldn't stay awake for much longer, either. At least this place was safe, wherever it was. He could see a doorway, and stairs leading away from the room, but he didn't have the energy, or the interest right now to investigate. Eventually, Marcus laid down beside Renee, and closed his eyes to sleep.

XxX  
Chapter two! Hope you all liked Moresha's family, and Marcus. Next chapter, we'll be back with Erik. Review, please!


	3. Find Her

Find Her  
XxX

Erik paced the room nervously. It was an hour past sundown, and Renee was not home. She had never been late in her shorter trips alone. She was always on time, if not a few moments early, just to tell him her stories. She was never late.

She wasn't here yet. No Renee, bursting in, apologizing for being so late, and going on about some sort of great adventure that had made her late, no happy hugging, no telling Renee it was alright and that he understood, just try to keep better track of time, dear Renee.

He would have gone out right then and there, but the logical part of his mind reminded him that it was entirely possible that she had wandered away from any sight of a clock, and had lost track of time. Or she could be in a store, where there was no way to see just how dark it was outside. Yes, that was it. Renee had just lost herself somewhere, Erik could all but see her sitting curled in a corner chair at a bookstore, reading a book.

He coughed roughly; the coughing had gotten worse through the day, and he was sure now that he was falling ill. In any case, it would do neither him, nor Renee any good if he caught his death of pneumonia by running around the streets of Paris in the middle of a winter night while he was already feeling a bit under the weather. He'd have to wait til morning. Surely Renee would be back before then.

_I'll wait by the fire. I'm sure she'll be home soon._

_And if she's not?_

_First thing in the morning, I'll go and find her._

_And your face?_

_Let people stare. Renee is my daughter, I _must _find her._

His brain's conversation with itself was cut off by another hoarse coughing fit. His throat hurt, afterward, so he went and got a drink.

A moment later, he was settled in his chair in front of the fire, the glass of water on a stand next to the chair, a blanket pulled around his shoulders as he watched the flames dancing back and forth in the hearth.

The flickering fire was hypnotizing, lulling the Phantom to the brink of sleep. But he didn't dare sleep. He shook his head to clear it, and looked away from the flames, determined to keep awake and wait for Renee. He'd have to scold her on forgetting herself, but that would only come after he held her close, made sure she was alright and warm, and thanked God for letting her return to him safely.

_But what if she's not safe?_

The thought alone carried him to the door, before he began coughing again, and he leaned heavily against the wall to stay standing. No, he certainly couldn't go anywhere tonight. Not in his condition, any way. And he was _so tired..._

_Rest will help me. I need to be ready in case Renee is not back by morning. Though I'm sure she will be. Just a short rest. So I won't yell when she returns._

_-_

_-_

Erik was woken by the cold. He blinked his eyes open slowly, shivering despite the thick quilt. The fire was low, and everything was in the same place as when he'd gone to sleep. There was a bit of dim sunlight on the burnt out wood on the bottom of the fireplace.

He looked around. There was no crimson colored cape hanging next to his by the door. No sign that his Renee was back. Absolutely nothing.

But she could be in her room.

Standing stiffly, and swaying slightly, Erik crossed the floor to the door to Renee's room, and looked inside. No one. No Renee curled in her bed beneath her blankets, twitching as she slowly woke up for the day, or hanging her cloak on the end of her bed, having just changed from her nightgown into a dress for the day.

Panic started in Erik's mind. His child was not home. She should have been home the previous evening. What could have happened that she was still gone?

Desperately worried - probably overly so, some part of his mind realized - the Phantom moved to the door, striding out it as quickly as he could, while all but hacking up a lung.

He realized belatedly, when the chill wind of a French winter bit his exposed hands and face - that he had neglected to bring his coat or his hat. But it didn't matter when stacked beside finding Renee. His own comfort didn't matter so much, so long as he found Renee.

He knew where to look, and searched for Renee in all her usual haunts, and wherever else he had ever been with her.

He checked the local bookstore first, stepping into the front room, and looking around. A few people looked at him - or his mask, to be more specific - but no familiar brown eyes looked beyond that mystery into his own blue eyes. Renee was not here.

Erik knew she liked to wander. Perhaps she'd gone to a restaurant to eat, and someone had seen her there.

He stopped when he saw a bakery, with Renee's favorite sweets in the window; a pumpkin muffin. It was a long shot, he knew, but he'd never known Renee to pass up a pumpkin muffin.

The woman behind the counter, though a tad anxious about Erik's mask, told him willingly what she knew, once the Phantom revealed that he was Renee's father.

Yes, the girl he was looking for had been here. That was just after noontide. She'd bought a muffin, then left, turning down the road away from the heart of the city. Erik had thanked her, and left, heading in the direction the woman had pointed.

"Renee?!?" he called hoarsely as he walked, praying he'd hear an answer. Then they could go home together, and forget she'd ever been missing. He'd let her come up to the city still, of course. But he'd be with her.

"Hi! Monsieur!" an older man called from the doorway of a little cafe. Erik recognized the area. Behind the cafe was the river where Erik had taught her to swim, and to ice-skate.

"This Renee," the elder continued. "Brown hair, friendly brown eyes?"

Erik nodded almost desperately. He didn't trust his voice, as he was almost certain he'd start coughing the moment he opened his mouth.

"She had a red cape, yes?"

Again, the Phantom's head bobbed.

"D..... do you kn-know.... exc-cuse -" He was cut off by a rough coughing fit, nearly doubling over as his shoulders shook with the force of the coughs. They were tearing at his lungs now, rather than his throat, and he knew he'd have to find Renee soon. "D-do you know...... wh-where she is?"

"Monsieur," the older man said slowly, clearly concerned. "Perhaps you would like to come inside and rest for a spell?"

"N-no," Erik replied hoarsely. "I must f-find Renee..."

"You are certain, then, monsieur, that you don't wish to warm yourself by the fire? It is plenty warm."

"Do you know wh-where she went?"

The man thought for a moment, then pointed down toward the river.

Erik smiled, and thanked him quietly, before heading to the river, trying to hold back the coughs that made it so hard to keep moving.

She wasn't there. Erik looked for any sign of holes in the ice, anything that, though it made him feel sick to think about, might have happened to her. There was nothing. The river was smooth as glass with ice. There were no holes. Nothing.

The Phantom cringed. She wasn't here. She had been, certainly; he found familiar footprints in the snow on the bank, leading back to the city, but once they hit the snow-less street, they vanished. He could only hope she'd kept on going in that direction.

Coughing, he continued on back toward the city, desperate to find Renee. He wondered suddenly, if perhaps she'd been taken in by one of the people who lived in these grand houses, or in one of the smaller places. Perhaps she had told them who she lived with, and they were holding her against her will, trying to protect her from something she didn't need protection from.

After a while, he sank down on the edge of a fountain, coughing roughly. The coughs had gone straight to his lungs in the time he'd been up here, and it was painful.

His arms shook as he tried to push himself back to his feet. He staggered into the wall, leaning heavily against his arm, which he propped against it to keep his balance, and to remain on his feet. He was determined to keep moving, but it was so hard.

At first, he tried to let his mind wander and escape the pain, but he found himself stumbling more and more. He stopped again to cough, and the coughs were chesty, and rattling. It hurt so much.

But he had to keep going. He focused carefully on his legs, keeping himself moving forward despite his exhaustion.

_Left foot._

_Right foot.._

_Step..._

_Step...._

_Find Renee....._

_Don't fall......_

_Don't cough......._

_Don't... stop........_

Erik raised his head with effort, and looked around. He had found his way to a market. As he passed one stand, he saw a gypsy woman and a young girl. They were buying,... something. Erik was too tired to care what.

"Mama?" the little girl asked. "Do you think Wenee fweed Mawcus?"

Erik's hopes soared. Could they be talking about his Renee?

"Pardon," he rasped, trying not to sound too frightening. "Renee, did she have brown hair?"

The child nodded rapidly, and Erik felt his heart rise.

"Brown eyes? A red cape?"

Again, the little girl nodded eagerly.

"She came to ouw faiw an' fweed Mawcus!"

Erik coughed harshly, turning aside and holding a hand in front of his face.

"I-I apologize...." he wheezed. "She is m-my child.... Do you know where she w-went afterward?"

"The only one who would know that is Kieran, the man who was in charge of Marcus," the woman explained.

"Wh-where.... where is he..?"

"We will take you there, sir," the gypsy said gently.

Erik smiled his thanks, feeling drained, and weak. He stumbled several times along the way, but the woman and the child helped him along.

"I'm Mowesha!" the girl chirped.

A pang of wistfulness shot through Erik. This little girl reminded him so much of his Renee. She'd been sunny, and innocent just like little Moresha, when she was young - in fact, she still was. The Phantom couldn't help a small, exhausted smile.

"And my n-name.... is Erik," he replied.

The woman watched him like a hawk, watching for any sign that he might need her help.

Erik did his best to stand strong, but his strength was failing him. He coughed violently, doubling over. The woman, who's name was Aisha, caught him before he sank to the ground, and pulled him to his feet again, slinging one of his arms over her shoulders to help bear his weight.

When the reached the fair grounds, everything was being taken down. Aisha led Erik into a tent, and sat him down on a bench by a fire.

"Moresha, fetch Kieran," Aisha instructed. The little girl trotted off with a nod.

It grew silent after Moresha left. Aisha offered him a cup of tea that smelled strongly of ginger, and apple cider.

He took it gratefully and drank slowly, savoring the warmth that the hot teacup brought to his numbed hands.

Aisha wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and then her fingers traced his mask.

"You were 'The Devil's Child,'" she whispered. "I am glad you escaped. Many times I've wished I could."

"Then why not go?"

Aisha shook her head.

"My husband is too sickly, monsieur," she replied. "I need the money to care for him."

Moresha returned then with the man Kieran. He looked at Erik as though there were something distantly familiar about him, and Erik's guard went up at once. But Kieran seemed to let the notion go, and looked at him.

"You were friends with that girl?" he asked.

"I am her father," Erik countered, feeling his breath constrict. The man in front of him was the spitting image of Javert. "She is my child."

"Hmm," Kieran grumbled.

"Wh-where did she go?" the Phantom pressed, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to run and escape this place. The memories alone made breathing more difficult than it was already, and he coughed again.

It took a moment for the fit to subside, and Erik was out of breath once it had.

Aisha and Moresha looked at him worriedly. He was wheezing tightly, and there was an ominous rattle from his lungs that sounded like trouble to come.

"Damned if I know," the gypsy Kieran growled. "They took off into the city. I had an officer following them, but they vanished round the opera house. No sign of 'em. Did get this for my troubles, though." He held up Renee's red cape and it was all Erik could do not to snatch it from his filthy hands.

The Phantom regarded the cape, and Kieran, then held out his hand for it.

"Give it to me..... p-please," he panted. Kieran considered for a moment, then dropped the cape into Erik's out-stretched hand, striding out of the tent.

"Ah, take it!" he snarled. "I don't need it!"

Erik looked at the cape. There was a bit of a tear from something sharp near the collar, and that made his blood run cold. But there was no blood around the rip, so perhaps Renee was alright, wherever she was.

He stood slowly, and turned to Aisha and Moresha.

"Thank you for all your help," he sad, bowing his head in gratitude. "I must leave, now."

Before either the mother or the daughter could say anything, the Phantom disappeared out of the tent.

Snow had started to fall in slow, heavy flakes that coated Erik's hair as he walked – stumbled, really – along the road toward the opera house. God, he hoped his strength would get him that far. Just that far, just to Renee, and then everything would be fine.

He stumbled, tripping on a loose stone, and fell on his hands and knees in the slowly mounting snow. Coughing, Erik's arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. He closed his eyes as the coughing increased.

After a long while, the fit passed, and Erik was left trembling in the snow, hair coated with white. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open, and saw blood in the snow. He raised a shaking hand to wipe at his mouth. More blood. It stained his hand, and he wiped it quickly in the snow.

Trembling, he looked around himself, and found that he'd made it almost to the opera house. Home was not far, either. Erik had the sudden thought that he should let Renee stay at the opera house. She'd have a nicer life there than any he could give her.

But no. Renee would wonder why he hadn't found her. And in that moment, an image came to his mind of Renee, sitting by a window in a dormitory room at the Opera house, watching silent, and crying; waiting for her papa, because when she'd left to find him, he hadn't been home.

That image alone gave him the strength to stand. He couldn't let Renee down. She had never let _him _down. She hadn't been afraid of his face, she hadn't been angry when he told her the truth about her mother, and how he'd found her. She had always been well behaved and kind. he couldn't just abandon her, even if it _was _to a better life.

Stumbling to his feet, Erik continued forward. The opera house was only a few minutes away, now. If he could get there, everything would be alright. He'd find Renee, and they'd go home.

He kept his focus on moving forward. He wouldn't - couldn't - stop.

Erik fought the urge to cough as he made his way down the street, leaning heavily against the buildings. Not many people saw him pass, and those that did took little interest, and hurried to their homes to escape the falling snow.

Oh, he wished he could just run to some pretty chateau, where there was a parlour inside, and a roaring fire. But he wasn't. Erik had to get to the opera house, no matter what. There was no other thing for him to do.

Finally, the great building was in sight. Heaving a sigh of relief that turned into a wet, chesty coughing fit that had him on his knees by the time he reached the doors. He'd heard that the opera house had closed after the fire, but judging from the sign on the door about his opera, 'The Angel's Daughter', it had reopened.

The coughs finally stopped, and Erik leaned on the great handle, using what remained of his strength to push the door open. He stumbled inside and collapsed on the marble floors, his vision going from blurry to dark, as the world faded. He heard a vaguely familiar scream, then all went black, and he passed out.

XxX  
Chapter 3! And no, Erik's not dead. I would never kill him. Anyway, chapter four should be up soon, if my Internet doesn't give me any more trouble. Review, please! And the rip in Renee's cloak is from the ice-skates.


	4. All Together

All Together  
XxX

Marcus awoke first, eyes flickering open as he sat up slowly. He was still in the little chapel, and the girl - Renee, wasn't that her name? - was still asleep. Not unconscious, because she trembled slightly, and frowned, twitching because of a hair caught in her eyelashes.

Because he was greatful, Marcus reached out, and gingerly pushed the erant strand out of her face. Renee stirred, and her eyes opened. She started, at first, but as the memories of the previous night came back to her, she smiled sweetly at Marcus.

"How is your head?" he asked her, looking her over with the gaze of a concerned acquaintance.

Renee frowned, then she remembered. She'd been hit. Not by the boy; by a man. The drunken gypsy guard. She remembered running, remembered a pounding and pulsing in her forehead that hadn't gone away. She remembered vaguely being carried, then being set gently down in the room.

She looked around curiously. They were in a small, stone chapel room, and there was a doorway, and some stairs leading away to somewhere.

Footsteps were heard on the stairs, along with a soft voice.

_"Wishing you were somehow here again....  
Wishing you were somehow - "_

The voice stopped when the person came into the room and saw the two teenagers sitting on the floor.

Marcus moved in front of Renee, looking warily at the woman, who raised a calming hand toward the two children.

"It's alright," she said softly. "I won't hurt you. My name is Christine. Christine de Chagny."

"I've heard of you!" Renee gasped, pointing to Christine. "My papa has mentioned you a few times. He said he knew you! He.... called you... um... his Angel of Music! That's what he said!"

Christine's blood froze.

_Erik. _

And he had this young girl under his spell, having her believing that he was some sort of god, no doubt, as he'd done with her. Either way, Christine could not, in good conscious let the girl go back to him. She still seemed young and innocent, so perhaps it wasn't too late to save her from him.

"Here, you must both be half frozen," Christine said, turning toward the doorway. "Come along. There are many fireplaces and snug rooms in the opera house."

Renee's eyes widened. They were in _the _Paris Opera House? How amazing. This was where her papa had lived, well below the ground, in the catacombs. That was all he'd ever told her about his time here. He'd told her other things about his past, while he'd been sick when Renee was seven. Half-delirious, he'd told her about how he'd been all but forced from his mother's home, how he'd been snatched up by gypsies, and put in a cage on display, how he'd murdered, though he hadn't really wanted to, not ever. It was to protect his secrets. Then he'd tearfully - feverishly - begged Renee to understand that he'd changed, and it was his time with her that had changed him. He begged her to forgive him his dark past.

Renee had been terrified, at first, but one look at her papa's pleading, frightened eyes - scared he'd just lost her forever - she understood that he was telling the truth. Erik had, after all, never outright _lied _to her. The worst he'd done was not tell her all the details of a situation.

But this was the place of what Renee supposed was Erik's greatest pain. She knew that it was here that Christine had chosen Raoul over him (again, told to her through delirium and halucination, courtesy of a high fever), and she had to wonder why. What had her papa done?

In Renee's mind, the Phantom's personality had always been as she'd known it; guiding, loving. She did not know how dark he'd been, how morbid, and macabre a life he'd really lead in the bowls of the opera house. He refused to tell her; he feared frightening away the last chance he had for any scrap of salvation.

Christine led them up the stairs, down a few hallways, and then around a corner, up more stairs, into a dressing room. She sat the two teens down in front of a fire, offered them hot cider, and blankets, if they wished (Renee shook her head; the cold didn't bother her much. She was used to, even right next to the fire with her papa, there being a bit of a cold draft from the sewer).

"Now," Christine asked gently. "How did you two come to be curled on the floor in the opera house chapel?"

It was Marcus who spoke.

"Renee," he began. "That is, the girl here, rescued me from the gypsies."

Renee realized then, that, even with the blanket around his shoulders, Marcus was shivering, and she remembered he didn't have a shirt. Feeling blind for not having noticed, she gently tapped his shoulder, and pressed her unused blanket into his hands with a friendly smile.

Marcus smiled his thanks.

"We had to run, as the guard woke up," he continued explaining. "He hit Renee rather hard, but she seems alright. I brought her here. Though, I didn't know where here was. It was just someplace safe where we could hide until she woke up. She'd said something about a safe place when she'd unlocked the door on the cage..."

"Yes," Renee affirmed. "The home papa made in the sewer. It's warm and dry there, and no one but papa and I know where it is." Her eyes widened, and she gasped, jumping up. "Papa!" she cried. "I was supposed to be home last night around sunset! Oh, he'll be so worried. And it'll only make him sicker, no doubt. I must go."

Renee bowed to Christine and Marcus, and headed toward the door, only to be stopped by Christine's hand on her arm.

"I apologize," she said, "but I cannot let you go back to him."

"Let me go," Renee insisted, starting to get nervous. Did Christine know something about her papa that she didn't? The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

She was about to pull her arm away from Christine's grip, and run, when a shocked yell echoed through the opera house.

"Meg!" Christine gasped, letting go of Renee and running for the door. Marcus and Renee exchanged looks, then followed her.

Meg had just finished with a ballet lesson. The girls were all coming along rather well, really. They knew what they were doing, and they did it well. She walked down the hallways, toward the lobby. She had to go that way to get to Christine's dressing room.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped. Watching as the great front doors swung open. That was odd, as the opera house was closed, today. They were in the midst of rehearsals. No one was allowed in when the actors were practicing.

Then the person stumbled in, falling, and lying still. Meg gasped, shocked that the person was in too bad a shape to even get up, and ran down the stairs to his side. When she reached him, Meg turned him over, and screamed, falling back from him, eyes wide and terrified.

A moment later, Christine was on the opposite stairs, two youths beside her.

"Stay here," she instructed, running down the stairs to see why Meg had screamed (She was fairly certain she knew why, and his name was Erik).

Her fears confirmed when she reached his side, Christine was nearly ready to have Meg fetch the police. But then she saw the fevered flush across his face, and cringed when a chesty, deep, hollow cough was yanked from his lungs, causing his face to contort into a pained grimace.

"He's _ill?!?" _

Christine was nearly incredulous. She hadn't known that the Phantom of the Opera _could _get sick. Certainly the conditions of the under ground cave he'd lived in beneath the opera house would have made normal people very sick within days. Erik had lived there forever, and so, she'd thought it was impossible for him to fall ill.

"Oh, Christine," Meg implored, looking up at her friend. "We can't just let the police have him in his condition."

"No," Christine sighed. "I suppose not. As long as he is unwell, he will be safe. The opera house is my domain, now. I am not so cold as Firmin and Andre."

Meg smiled, remembering how Christine had used a bit of the money Raoul had left her to buy the opera house (Raoul had died three years earlier). She was a good manager; kind to her staff - consisting of Meg, Piangi's understudy, the old Maestro who'd been in charge of the orchestra sixteen years ago, and several cleaning ladies - her performers, and her patrons.

"Take him to a spare dressing room," Christine instructed. "Carlotta's," she added with a wicked grin. The diva no longer performed, but it was still nice to mess with her memory. No one had liked her much, besides Piangi. And the room was empty now, so no one would begrudge using it as a sick room for someone in trouble.

"Help me, Meg," she continued, lifting Erik's shoulders. "He's lost weight since I saw him last, but he's still heavier than I can carry."

Meg nodded, and helped Christine carry the Phantom back to Carlotta's room.

On the other stairs, Renee and Marcus watched everything transpire just out of ear shot. Curious, Renee followed after Christine and Meg, wondering who it was that had stumbled in off the streets, and having a terrible feeling that she knew exactly who it was the two opera workers carried like a limp doll between them. Whoever it was, he was clearly ill, or he would have regained consciousness by now, surely.

Eventually, Meg and Christine reached Carlotta's old room, and placed Erik gently on the bed. Christine covered him warmly, and Meg got water and a cloth from the washroom. She handed it to Christine, who wiped it across the exposed side Erik's face until his eyes flickered open with another chesty cough.

Dim, but familiar blue eyes stared out of a porcelain half-mask. Christine felt the sudden urge to cry, as sympathy and pity rose inside her. Sympathy for Renee, who might loose all she'd ever known - even if it was a dangerous, harmful lie - and pity for someone she remembered as being so strong, who was so weak now.

"Ch-Christine....?"

His eyes were disoriented, and he barely registered Christine's movements when she removed his mask to gently wipe the sweat from that side of his face, too.

"Shhh," Christine whispered, placing the cloth on his forehead to fight the fever.

"R-Ren...... Renee...." He coughed hoarsely. "Where..... here?"

Erik's breathing, Christine noted, was shallow, and ragged. It rattled in his lungs, and came through inflamed passages as a wheeze. His face, which had always been rather light, was deathly pale, and his hands, though they were warming up, now that he was inside, and under warm blankets, were freezing.

Listening at the door, Renee gasped when she heard the person ask for a Renee, and she looked closer. Yes, she could see the deformed half of his face. It _was _her papa.

"Papa!"

Renee ran in, and when Meg tried to stop her, the teen wrenched herself away, and dropped beside the bed, reaching for Erik's hand.

"Papa, I am so _sorry _I did not come home!" she cried, tears trailing down her face. "I meant to! I did! Marcus and I were on the way, but, we did not make it. He brought me here, and I am so, _so sorry, _Papa!"

"Ren....ee," Erik rasped weakly. "'s n-not..... your fault, angel..... My angel..... Renee...."

Erik raised his free hand - shaking, pale, cold, and clammy - toward her face, and Renee let out a choked sob, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing the side of her face against his chest, eyes squinted shut against her tears.

Beneath the blankets, and the layers of skin and muscle and bone, Renee could hear the Phantom's heartbeat. It was quiet, and slower than it should have been, but it was steady, and even, at least.

Oh, but this was all her fault. If Renee hadn't been so foolish as to go to someplace where she _knew _she'd see something she could not stand, she'd have gotten home on time, and with medicine, which she realized with a sob, that she no longer had. It had been in a pocket on her cape, and that was lost.

The cape had cost a pretty penny, as well. But Erik had insisted it didn't matter. He was just happy to see Renee smiling. He'd told her it suited her when he'd bought it for her fourteenth birthday.

Christine put a hand on Renee's shoulder, intent on getting her out of the room. Erik may have been very sick, but it was clear from Renee's actions, he still had some power over her.

"Come," she said gently. "I think it best if we let your papa rest, Renee."

Renee tensed.

"No," she said flatly. "I will not leave Papa. It is my fault he's ill." She turned determined, flashing eyes, narrowed almost to slits, to Christine, her face set and firm. "I will stay with him."

Christine wanted so badly to pull the girl away from the dangerous Erik, wanted to drag her out to the halls, and knock some sense into her; free her from the Phantom's spell. She didn't want to see Renee hurt. Or the boy.

"Renee," Meg said suddenly. "You should probably lie down, yourself. There's still a bruise where you were hit."

Renee heard the sharp intake of breath first, and cringed when Erik began coughing harshly. Renee moved to help him, tugging on his arms and shoulders until he was sitting up, and grabbed the pitcher and a cup. She poured water into the cup, and pressed it against her father's mouth, silently begging him to drink.

Erik flopped against the pillows once the fit passed, breathing hard and labored. Renee blanched, eyes wide and tearful; the Phantom's eyes were closed tightly.

"Papa?" Renee whispered. Erik's eyes flickered open, and he looked at her, worry and concern in his eyes.

"....hurt?"

Rnee shook her head.

"No, Papa," she assured quickly. "I'm fine, now. I promise, I won't let anything else happen to you, Papa. You've taken care of me, now I'll take care of you."

"Renee...."

A weak smile graced Erik's pale face. He'd found her, all right. He'd worried, and wondered if perhaps she wasn't in the opera house. Then all his searching would have been for nothing, because he couldn't have searched every square inch of Paris. That would be impossible, even if he _wasn't _sick.

It was ironic, though. Hadn't he thought, just the night before, that if he just ran out to find Renee, he'd catch his death of pneumonia? He felt so awful, he wouldn't be surprised if that really _was _what was wrong with him now.

But at least Renee was safe, and they were together. There was, however, the matter of Christine, and Meg. They knew his past. They might tell Renee, and take her away from him. He wouldn't be able to stand that. Lose Renee? No, that would certainly be the straw that broke the camel's back, as the saying went.

"Renee," Marcus said gently, coming to Renee's side. "I think Meg and Christine are right. And besides, your father needs to rest, himself. We could always explore?"

Renee turned a sad smile to Marcus, then kissed Erik's cheek.

"I won't leave the opera house, Papa," she said softly. "I promise you. And when we are done, I will come back here, and stay with you."

"Have a good time, Renee," Erik murmured. "Do not worry about me."

Renee smiled sadly.

"I _will _come back, and help take care of you, Papa."

The Phantom nodded tiredly, and watched Marcus lead his Renee away, followed closely by Meg and Christine.

_Christine....._

He'd broken her trust in him, once. And though he'd once seen banns posted for her marriage to that _Raoul, _Erik still longed, somewhere in a corner of his heart that hadn't been given as a loving guardian to Renee, for Christine. He remembered her selflessness, her kindness to a monster like him. Maybe, one day, he could regain her trust, though not her heart.

Erik had never meant to hurt Christine. All his life, he'd only been given tough choices. Stay in his mother's home, where he was not wanted - would never _be _wanted - or face the world on his own, and possibly find someone to care; stay with the gypsies and get food and shelter, though he was tortured and displayed like an animal daily, or face the world, with no one to care for him.

At least with the gypsies, there'd been Aisha. He remembered her vaguely. A child. Yes, a young girl with brown hair and eyes. She was always kind, slipping him bits of food when she could. Many times after he'd come to the opera house with Madame Giry, he'd wished he'd brought her with him. But he'd just committed murder. He'd had to run, and she wasn't much of a runner.

She had been so young, then. Now, she was a woman with a family.

No, but all his life, he'd only had one unwelcomed option after another. He hadn't meant to hurt Christine by making her choose in such a way, but that was what the world had done to him, and it had never given him a chance to prove himself.

But, maybe this time, it would be alright. Maybe Christine would accept him. He didn't know. But for right now, he was just too tired to care much, and his eyes closed of their own accord.

From the doorway, Christine watched Erik succumb to sleep, and sighed. She didn't know why he was back, but she did know that she wouldn't let him hurt anyone else the way he'd hurt her. Erik was back in her life, but if Christine could help it, it wouldn't be for very long.

XxX  
A bit shorter than the others, but what can I say? What I really want happens next chapter. Review, please! And Christine doesn't mean she'll off him at the end there, that means that once he's better, she's gonna try to get him to leave.


	5. Below the Opera House

Below the Opera House  
XxX

Renee followed Marcus, letting him lead them both around, through unknown doors, and mysterious halls. Neither really knew where they were going, but Renee honestly didn't care. Her mind was fixed on Erik, sick, and alone - _Papa's safe, though, _she reasoned. _Alone doesn't matter when he's in a safe place - _and it worried her. Not to mention the entire thing was her fault.

"I'm sure he'll be alright, your papa," Marcus said gently, making Renee jump slightly as she was pulled out of her thoughts. She looked around to see that they'd made it to the main theatre room.

Renee's eyes widened slightly. The stage was huge, as was the theatre around it. There were hundreds of seats.

Marcus looked from the seats and the stage to Renee, then back. He took her hand, and led her down toward the stage. Renee followed, head swinging around to take in all the beautiful details of the Paris Opera House.

"It's so big," Renee whispered, looking around. Marcus looked back from his own inspection of the decorations, and smiled.

"Have you ever been here before?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. Anything to get her to stop worrying so much. She looked sad, and he hated it when people were sad.

Renee shook her head. "I've never been here, but Papa's spoken of it often. He drew up a picture of it once." Her eyes turned distant, and she sighed.

Something on the stage caught her attention, and she stepped forward, pointing.

"I wonder what that is?"

Marcus followed her curiously. He could see the bit of a shine, near the back of the stage. Whatever it was was small, but rather shiny.

Renee made it to the stage, and climbed up. She trotted across the stage and knelt down. The shining thing was actually a tiny cymbal. Renee looked up from the little thing to see a small, handmade monkey sitting on a music box. It was clear that the thread holding the cymbal on the monkey's pay had been severed.

She wondered idly who had made such a precious little thing, and why they'd left it behind. Feeling sorry for the tiny figure, she walked over to it, and picked it up, holding it carefully in her hands.

"I'll have to find some thread," she decided, glancing around, as though expecting someone to step out of the shadows, a spool of string in hand.

"We'll find some," Marcus agreed, giving Renee a small smile.

Renee returned the grin, then looked around. At the back of a theatre box, there was a door.

"Let's go check it out!" she grinned, pointing. Marcus nodded, and they wandered off to explore the odd door.

The door was plain, carved into the back of the wall opposite the opening to the box - box 5. Renee looked at Marcus, then pushed open the door.

Together, they wandered down the path. It was dark, but Renee didn't seem worried at all. Her eyes were used to the dark, from exploring the tunnels beneath the sewer with Erik. He had often taken her down below the sewers to the old catacombs beneath the city. Though he'd been careful never to take her anywhere near the dangerous opera house catacombs.

Marcus jumped when he bumped into Renee's back. Renee seemed to start, too, but not quite so badly.

"There's a door here," she whispered. "And a turn to the right." She pressed on the door, and it slid open. Beyond the door was an old dressing room. It wasn't very much. But there was a packet of aged matches, which was convenient , considering that there was a long-forgotten torch in a sconce on the wall. Renee grabbed the matches, lit the torch, and pulled it from its sconce, using it to light their way.

Curious, Renee led Marcus down the pathway, wondering all the while what might be down here. She glanced at the cold, damp stone wall, and was glad that, if her papa _had _to be sick, that he was too sick to accompany her down here, as it would have only bothered his lungs more, and made his cough worse. At least, up in the old dressing room, he was safe, and relatively comfortable - as comfortable as one could be with a bad cough, and a high fever.

"Renee?" Marcus muttered from somewhere just behind her. "I think we should go back. There's not much down here."

Renee shook her head, not turning, and not stopping.

"It feels like something's coming. Something we'll like. Did you notice it feels as though we are going downward? There will probably be some stairs soon."

Marcus shook his head, and continued following Renee. The torch light was dim, but enough so that he could see Renee not three feet ahead of him. He had absolutely no interest in getting left behind, or lost.

"Stairs," Renee called over her shoulder. Marcus watched her slowly get lower to the ground, then hit the stairs himself.

The stairs were narrow, and spiralling. They were long, as well.

"I wonder how long we'll be walking," Renee mused, squinting into the gloom ahead.

"Someone's probably looking for us," Marcus warned. "Do you really want to go down here?"

"Yes," Renee replied simply. "Very much so."

Marcus sighed.

"You don't have to come with me," the girl reminded him.

"Yes," Marcus countered. "I do. It would be wrong of me to let you be hurt just because I wanted to return."

They still were not down the stairs yet, though Renee thought she could see the end of the staircase if she held the torch out in front of her.

At the bottom of the staircase, there were two passages. One went up to their left, and there was a sign that said 'to the roof'. The other way continued to lead downward, the path they were already on. Renee chose the right-hand path.

Marcus watched Renee as they continued onward. He wasn't too sure about all of this anymore. They had been walking for a long time, now. Surely someone was looking for them.

He had to wonder, though; what was down here? There wouldn't be secret passages for nothing. How much farther until they reached the end, he wondered. How long until they had to turn back, or were found, and brought back? And why, in God's good name, did he have the distant, but distinct feeling that they were being followed?

This whole situation reeked of potential rumors. If they just disappeared for hours, and then returned randomly, surely people would talk, and assume. And Marcus could just see that damaging the relationship between Renee and her father. He didn't want to be the cause of the ruin of such closeness.

Halfway down the tunnel, they found another, though much shorter, set of stairs. Renee led the way down, torch in one hand, monkey music box and cymbal in the other.

If she was nervous, Marcus could see no sign of it. It was almost as though Renee were in some sort of trance, enchanted by the tunnels around them. He supposed, after all, that wandering dark catacomb tunnels with only a torch for light, did have a sort of romanticised idealism to it. Though it was more mysterious to him, than anything else.

At the end of this second flight of stairs, the two found a long hall, stretching off to the right, and the left. To the right, it looked like it went back toward the opera house, but to the left, the path receded into the darkness of the underground. Renee chose the left.

"How far do you think this path goes?" she asked Marcus in a hushed, excited voice.

Marcus shrugged. He'd never been down here before, either, so how would he know? But it was only Renee's apparent excitement that made her speak, so he didn't say anything.

It took them quite a while to reach the end of the hall. There was another set of stairs, and then a landing. Beyond the landing, there was a large body of water.

"I guess we have to turn back," Marcus muttered. He'd finally gotten into seeing what was down here, and it was just a lake.

"No, look!" Renee exclaimed, running down the landing a small ways. She held out the torch, and there, tied to the landing, was a boat. It bobbed lightly in the dark current. With it, was a long steering pole.

Renee set the monkey music box and detached cymbal in the bottom of the boat, and climbed in afterward. She turned back to Marcus, and waved for him to hurry over.

"Come on!" she called eagerly.

Marcus followed slower, and regarded the boat with caution for a moment as he stood there.

"Nothing will happen, Marcus," Renee assured him. Marcus frowned. It wasn't that he was scared, he just had a feeling that this was not a very good idea.

In the end, though, he climbed into the boat, and took the torch from Renee. The girl moved to untie the boat, and grabbed the pole, pushing off from the landing and sending the boat slowly out into the water.

The light from the torch refracted off the water, bouncing back around them, and lighting up a large area of the lake. It did not brighten the entire expanse of water, as the underground lake was enormous, and stretched off to the left and right seemingly infinitely.

They sailed in silence for a while, Renee pushing them along across the water. She wondered idly what was out here. There was a boat, so there had to be _something._

And a few moments later, they found what was out there.

Out of the dark, a cave-like structure emerged. There was an opening, and hanging by the top of that opening was a battered-looking portcullis.

It was raised high above the water, and completely beaten. Renee wondered just how old it was.

She didn't have long to wonder, though, as she saw what was beyond. The place looked so familiar. It was almost like her home with Erik in the sewer. Except here, the place was scorched and burned badly. The only thing that wasn't destroyed was a great organ.

As the boat bumped against the shore, Renee jumped out and went over to the organ. It was huge and old, and she wondered who had made this place. Who had lived here?

A little ways away, by a shattered mirror, lay something white. Renee walked over to it, and knelt down. On seeing it, she yelped, realizing just who had been here.

The mask was white, made of porcelain, just like another mask she knew well.

Marcus, hearing Renee's yell, ran forward to make sure everything was alright.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Renee shook her head, holding up the mask.

"This was Papa's home," she murmured, slowly standing, and walking back toward the organ. "This was where he lived before he found me."

She turned, and wandered farther into the lair. In an alcove, there was a burned dummy that looked vaguely like Christine (It was hard to tell, though, as most of the face had been melted).

Renee sighed. So her papa really had loved Madame de Chagny. She wondered, not for the first time, why the woman had chosen the viscount over Erik. Renee had only ever known Erik's kindness, so she couldn't understand why he didn't deserve love. Because of his face? No, that wasn't at all fair.

But perhaps he'd done something unforgivable. Renee shook her head immediately at the thought. That wasn't her papa. No, her papa was too loving. Too gentle, too kind. He may have looked like a dangerous madman, but Renee knew better. He was tender, and friendly. He was kind, and loving, and understanding.

Marcus watched Renee wander deeper into the lair, and followed her. In the back, around a corner, there was a curtain. Renee pulled a curious looking rope, and the curtain rose to reveal a round bed, in a clam shell-like setting, with satiny red sheets and blankets. It was lovely.

_"You shouldn't be here!" _a voice rasped behind them. Renee jumped, swinging around.

"_Papa!" _she gasped.

It was Erik. He was standing there, mask-less, in a nightshirt, shaking and drenched, his hair dripping in his face. He was panting heavily, a tight wheezing rattle in his breathing as he leaned heavily against the wall of the cave.

But when Renee came closer, he held out his hand and pushed away from the wall, standing as straight as he could while holding back a coughing fit, and glared angrily at Renee.

"I told you _never _to come down here!" he snarled. "I warned you! _Didn't I?! _It's _dangerous _down here, Renee!"

"Papa, I am sorry," Renee said quickly, for under the layer of anger, she could see not only concern and worry, but all the signs swiftly waning strength as well. "I did not remem-"

"'I am sorry' would not have help me if you had _died!" _the Phantom growled.

As Erik spoke, there was a crack, and Marcus jumped forward, pushing Renee, who was right in the path of a falling piece of the ceiling, out of the way. Erik, to shied away from the danger, but the moment it passed, he rounded furiously on the two teens - particularly his child.

"Do you see what could have happened just now?!" he demanded. "I could have _lost you, _Renee! You could have been _KILLED -"_

It was clear he'd meant to say more, but at that moment, the coughs over powered him, and the Phantom collapsed in a fit, hacking violently.

Eyes wide in terror and concern, Renee jumped up, and dropped beside Erik's crumpled form, praying to God that he would be alright.

The Phantom coughed wickedly, struggling to bring his body back under his own control. Renee and Marcus helped him sit up carefully, and at last, he managed to pull in a ragged gasp, before he slumped forward, unconscious.

_"PAPA?!?!?!" _Renee screamed, eyes wide, tears trailing already down her cheeks, as she pulled him onto his back.

His skin was ashen, and sweaty, paling by the second. The only part of his face that did not lighten was the harsh fever-flush across his cheeks. But his chest was still. Not rising, or falling.

Desperate, Renee begged God and whatever angels might hear her for success, and pressed several times against Erik's chest, then breathed into his mouth (he had taught her how long ago, in anticipation of the day when she would be grown and on her own).

Renee repeated the motion, sobbing, and silently praying for this to work. She still needed her papa. Erik was everything familiar to Renee. Everything safe, and secure.

After a moment, Erik let out a weak cough, drawing in a deep, shaking breath. He groaned feebly, and frowned pained-ly.

Renee shook his shoulders gently, but he didn't wake up. She turned tear-filled, horrified eyes to Marcus.

"We have to get him out of here," she sobbed, clinging to the Phantom. Marcus nodded, and helped her lift him, and carry him to the boat.

Marcus held Erik up while Renee moved the monkey and its cymbal, then laid him down in the boat.

Renee sat by her father's side while Marcus poled them back to the other side of the lake.

She realized, with tears running down her face, that Erik must have swum over, and spent all his strength in the attempt. Oh, sweet God, but she was glad he'd managed it.

"Hold on, Papa," she whispered, clutching his hand tightly in her own.

Once on the other side of the lake, Marcus tied the boat, and pulled Erik up. Renee pulled off the top layer of her skirt, and tied the monkey thing to her waist before taking her papa's other arm, By now, Erik had regained a very shaky, feeble grip on consciousness, and staggered along with the teens, wishing he wasn't so much of a burden.

"....sh.....shouldn..... yelled....." he wheezed, hand weakly gripping the shoulder of Renee's dress. She knew what he meant.

"Papa, sh," she whispered gently. "You were right, though. I should not have forgotten your warning. I am sorry."

"D-didn'....... know..."

"Hush, Papa," Renee repeated, this time with a bit of firmness. "Don't talk, just keep moving."

She was still crying. Marcus could see it easily, but Erik was too out of it to notice much of anything. His fever had climbed higher, and he was shaking and sweating, and muttering to phantoms and ghosts that no longer existed, but still haunted his past.

By the time they reached the last staircase, Erik could barely move. He was coughing horriblyly, worse than before, and he could hardly breathe.

Renee was getting frantic. The Phantom wasn't going to make it all the way up the long spiral staircase. In fact, if Renee had to guess, it had taken her and Marcus a good half an hour to get down the stairs the first time. It was bound to take them much longer this time.

Renee looked at Marcus, and he looked at her.

"He won't make it," Renee whispered brokenly.

"He will," Marcus assured, as Erik let out a frail cough. Renee pulled his arm farther around her shoulders so that she was supporting more of his weight, grabbed the small railing, and started up, Marcus on the Phantom's other side.

It took them the better part of the next hour and a half to get up the stairs. Erik, as Renee had predicted, had had terrible trouble getting up the stairs, and the three often had to stop while they waited for him to stop coughing, or for Renee to manage to wake him up again.

By the end of the climb, Renee was sobbing beyond control, and Erik was paler than she'd ever seen him. The flush of his high fever stood out starkly against the pallor of his face.

"What I want to know," Marcus grunted under the Phantom's weight, "is how he knew where we were."

"Ch-Christine..... old room..... next to Carlott.....a's," Erik gasped. "......heard..... had to protect....."

He broke off into a harsh coughing fit, very nearly choking as blood stained his lips. Renee cringed in concern, pulling her hand back long enough to grab a fold of her skirts to wipe away the blood.

Sobbing, she pulled him into her arms, sitting on the top step. She'd never seen her father so weak. Her papa had always been the strong one. How would things ever be okay with him so sick?

XxX  
Yay, nother chapter done! it's funny; I can't think of a single sentence for my other stories, and yet, I've gotten up four chapters in the amount of time I have. (if you know my other stories, it usually takes forever for me to get this many chapters out). I don't know. Maybe it's the sudden explosion of my love for Phantom that was only madelarger by knowing that the theme for the prom at my school is Masquerade. Anyhow, review, please!


	6. Stay With Me

Stay with Me  
XxX

Renee was sobbing and stumbling by the time they made it back to the area of Carlotta's dressing room. It was getting obviously harder for her to help with Erik because she was so upset.

She kept muttering over and over, 'My fault..... all my fault.'

"It's not your fault," Marcus grunted, shifting so that he was holding more of Erik's weight.

If she hadn't been so worried, she would have turned right around and started explaining to Marcus exactly why it _was _her fault. As it was, however, she would settle for getting her father to safety, and begging Christine to send for a doctor, as it was clear Erik was not going to get better on his own.

Marcus pushed open the door once they reached it, and together, he and Renee got the Phantom into the bed. Renee pulled off the still damp-cold nightshirt, and switched it for a dry one, then pushed him down against the pillows, and pulled the blankets up to his chin.

"Marcus, get a cloth and wet it with cold water, please," she muttered, never taking her wet eye off her papa's pale, flushed face. "God in Heaven, that was the one thing you said I should always remember," she whispered. "'Never go to the opera house's catacombs. It's dangerous there.' Please forgive me, Papa."

She supposed they were all very lucky that his skin and hair had dried off, though the nightshirt had still been a tad damp. But his condition was still worrying.

Marcus reappeared with the asked-for compress, and Renee used it to wipe off the sweat from Erik's face. The Phantom groaned weakly, eyes fluttering. She pressed it against his forehead afterward, and let the cold water to its best work.

Slowly, Erik's blue eyes flickered open, and he smiled weakly up at Renee.

"Re......nee..." he choked out, voice frail, and cracked, little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, Papa," Renee said quickly, nodding. "I'm here. We're back in the dressing room. I'll be gone for a moment, but I will come right back, I promise."

"wh-where...?"

"Shh," Renee whispered, pushing him down when he tried to rise. "I must get Madame de Chagny to send for a doctor for you, Papa. You need help. More than we can give here."

Erik nodded weakly, too exhausted to really make sense of what was going on.

"Stay with him?" Renee muttered to Marcus as she turned to leave. Marcus nodded, and moved closer to the Phantom while Renee continued toward the door.

Renee made her way through the halls, looking for Christine's room. It was oddly easy to get lost in this place.

She turned down so many halls, that her head was starting to spin. She was lost. In an opera house. It was strange, really. She could wander the sewers, the streets of Paris, even, and not get lost, but an opera house was too much for her sense of direction?

Renee cursed, and slammed her palm against the wall.

"Renee?" a familiar soft voice asked. Renee swung around, eyes going wide, then filling with relief.

"Madame de Chagny," she said urgently. "I am glad I found you. Marcus and I were in the catacombs of the opera house." Just the memory of her papa collapsing, and not breathing nearly brought her to tears again. "Papa had said never to go there, as it was dangerous. I had forgotten, and Marcus and I went there. Papa followed. He's gotten so much _worse, _Madame!" Now, Renee was crying, the tears running steadily down her cheeks. "He needs a doctor! I don't think he'll make it on his own..."

Christine cringed. She'd been afraid of this. Could she honestly help him? True, he had murdered, but he had been what got her voice started; it was Erik that had taught her to sing. And he had never harmed _her. _He had killed Joseph Buquet, and Piangi, he'd threatened Raoul - though it hadn't worked between them, Christine still thought of him as a dear friend - but he'd never harmed her.

Sighing, she nodded. It was, to be honest, alarming that the Phantom had sunk so fast. Yes, it was only right to send for a doctor. But once Erik was well, he'd be on his way, and Renee, if Christine had anything to say about it, would never be anywhere near his dangerous presence again.

Just then, a shout echoed through the hall. Renee and Christine turned to see Marcus, standing there, with a sympathetic, worried, wide-eyed look on his face, out of breath, and flushed from running.

"Papa..."

Renee saw it all in his eyes, and her own breath caught. Then she was running. Or trying to run. In fact, Christine had her arm, and was telling her something about finding Meg and getting a doctor.

Renee barely stayed long enough to watch Christine take off grudgingly after Marcus to the Phantom's room. Already in tears, she turned and bolted, screaming for Meg down every hallway, until she found the dance instructor in the theatre with a corps of ballet girls.

"_MADAME GIRY!" _

Meg grabbed Renee's shoulders gently, but firmly, and gave her a tiny, slight shake.

"Easy, Renee," she said quickly. "Calm down, child. What is the matter?"

"Papa!" Renee sobbed. "I'm not sure what it is, but I went to find Madame de Chagny, to get a doctor, and th-then Marcus was there, and, he looked so w-worried, and M-madame de Chagny told me to get y-you to help f-find a doctor. Isn't there one for th-the opera house?"

Meg nodded.

"Follow me," she said quickly. Then to the ballet girls, "Practice is over for today. Back to the dormitories. And _stay there!"_

Meg led Renee to the manager's office, where there was a telephone on the desk. Quickly, she dialed the number for the physician, and told him it was urgent. To come at once. Yes, an illness. Very serious.

The moment Meg was off the phone, Renee, who'd been pacing and fidgeting agitatedly, immediately took off for Erik's room.

On walking in, she found _several _things out of place. Most of the things around the room had been knocked aside, Marcus was stumbling up next to the dresser, and Erik was curled into himself in the corner, looking weaker than ever to Renee. Christine was watching him warily, and he watched her, open fear shining in his eyes.

Erik looked up when Renee and Meg came back, and relief filled his features at the sight of Renee. The Phantom extended a shaking hand in his child's direction, palm up, as though reaching out to her, and Renee saw Christine tense. Behind her, she could feel Meg move, but too late. Just as the woman's fingers brushed her arm, Renee was moving to her papa's side, taking his hand, and kneeling beside him.

"Shh, Papa," she whispered, pushing sweat-slicked hair out of his face. "It's alright."

"....home," Erik croaked. "...must go home..."

"No, Papa," Renee said gently, pulling him up, and supporting most of his weight. She stumbled, but managed to catch herself, and got Erik to the bed. "You must rest. Don't you remember what's happened?"

Erik shook his head weakly as Renee gently pushed him down against the pillows, and pulled the blankets over him. Her father's eyes scanned the room and its other occupants warily.

"We are in the opera house, Papa," Renee explained softly, tucking the blankets around Erik's shaking shoulders. "Don't you remember?"

Apparently, he did not. His eyes widened fearfully, and his breathing became shallow and rapid as he tried to sit up. Renee moved immediately to push him down again, trying to soothe his worry.

"Easy, Papa," she calmed. "Easy. It's alright. We're safe, here."

"No!" Erik gasped, struggling to get out of the bed. Renee grabbed his arm, pulled him back, so she could push him down again. "Not safe..... nowhere but home...."

"_Shhh, _Papa," Renee insisted. "We _are _safe here, Papa. In any case, we can't go home with you so ill. You need to rest."

Erik shook his head, coughing.

"T-too many....... m-memories..... Christine..... I've done... s-such wrong.... not safe... take you...."

"Papa, lie still," Renee whispered softly, smoothing back Erik's damp black hair. "No one will take me away from you. I'll always be with you, Papa. I won't leave."

Erik seemed calmed by Renee's soft words, and almost sing-songy tone of voice. He stopped struggling, and panted, closing his eyes as another racking coughing fit shook his body. Worriedly, Renee pulled him forward - he'd lost a bit of weight since they'd been together at the sewer home, she noticed - and placed another pillow behind him, so that he was sitting up more.

Almost at once, the coughs eased away, but a pained frown remained. The Phantom moaned hoarsely, one hand on his chest, and Renee's heart all but stopped.

"Papa?" she whispered, blood pounding worriedly in her ears. "What is it? What hurts?"

"...lungs...." Erik mumbled quietly. He was nearly asleep again.

Renee closed her eyes. For a moment, she'd been afraid that somehow, his heart was being affected by all this. It wouldn't have been fair if he'd died now. Not after all their time together. Not after just fourteen years, only half of which she truly remembered.

A distant bell sounded, and Meg looked around.

"That's the door," she muttered, leaving the room with Christine.

The two women returned soon afterward, accompanied by a doctor. The doctor was a short, stout man, with a beard, and glasses. His face was red, and windswept, and Renee wondered how far he'd had to walk in the cold weather (it was snowing again, and quite heavily).

"The patient?" the doctor asked.

"Here," Renee replied, motioning to her father. "He said his lungs hurt just before he went to sleep, and he's had a bad cough for the last few days."

"I will see to him, my dear," the doctor assured, gently ushering Renee over to the door, where Marcus guided her out of the room under the watchful eye of Meg, and Christine.

Christine sighed, and spoke to Meg in hushed tones on the other side of the hallway from Marcus and Renee.

"Depending on what the doctor determines, Meg," Christine whispered, eyes shining, but a current of dim worry glowing underneath, "we may have no need to separate Renee from Erik. If he dies, it is only to be expected that Renee will stay here."

"Yes, but we must still prepare for if he lives," Meg reminded her. "Erik will not let Renee go so easily. I think it is more than sick humor in his control over her. There may be some sort of humane attachment. It will be difficult to separate them."

"Yes," Christine agreed, "and I almost feel horrid for even thinking it. Erik's life was never easy, from what I've heard. But I won't allow anyone else to fall under his curse. Renee seems to see something in Erik that I fear isn't truly there. Once he is well, I think it best if we send Erik on his way, but keep Renee here, where she will be safe."

"Agreed," Meg whispered, just as the door to Carlotta's old room opened and the doctor came out.

Renee, on seeing the doctor, all but ran to him, eyes desperate, and shining with unshed tears.

"Papa?" she asked worriedly, voice soft with fear.

The doctor waited until everyone was gathered around him. Then he adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat.

"He is very ill," he said gently, directing his words, almost explicitly to Renee. "Pneumonia. It will take time for him to recover. Not only are his lungs badly affected, but the coughing has aggravated his throat, and caused it to swell. I would prescribe the usual pills, and tablets, but I fear they would become stuck, and suffocate him. Hence, I would recommend strong ginger tea, with honey, and garlic and mustard plasters. It would help to break up the mucus, thus making it easier for him to clear his lungs."

Renee blinked at the floor, her vision swimming with the tears she desperately fought. _I won't cry. Not here, not now. Papa will need me in the days to come. _

"He will survive, though?" she pressed, eyes frightened, but hopeful.

"It is not certain," the stout doctor replied apologetically. Renee felt her heart drop. "The illness advanced rather quickly, for it being only the first few days. Should he pull through, I think he is in for a long, hard road ahead. But do not lose hope," he added, when the tears finally fell from Renee's eyes. "I have seen people survive worse."

Renee nodded sullenly, and looked from the door to the doctor. The doctor nodded, and Renee slipped quickly into the room, alone.

Erik was awake, lying in the bed. When he saw Renee, he forced himself out of the bed, and stumbled over to her, before she could move.

"C-christine," he rasped feverishly, eyes glassy. "Christine.... Forgive me. I-I n-never meant to hurt you."

He was sobbing, hiccoughing, and wheezing, clinging to Renee's skirts, and Renee didn't have the heart to let him think his pleas went unheard by the one who needed to hear them. She knelt, and wrapped her arms around him as Erik cried, and coughed.

"N-never wanted to kill...." the Phantom continued in a frail, wavering voice. "Piangi, Buquet.... n-never should have...." he coughed again. "Threatening R-raoul was t-to far.... I know now. Christine, R-renee, she's...... ch-changed me...."

"Shh," Renee crooned, holding him as close as she could. "I'm here."

"Christine...... Th-the gypsies. They.. hurt..... every day, b-beaten.... a _freak....." _Erik shook his head, coughing again. "Th-then Madame Giry. She.... s-saved me. I h-had killed. Never should have, Christine.... so sorry. Here, I w-was a sheltered.... outcast."

Erik's eyes flickered as his strength began to fail him. Unknown to either the Phantom, or Renee, Christine had opened the door, and was watching them silently, tears rolling down her face.

"Oh, Christine...." Erik rasped. "F-forgive me... you were my one hope....now, I h-have Renee..... I found her, as a b-baby.... she was two...... her mother dead. Needed me. Christine, I've changed... I-I'm not who I w-was.... please...."

Silent as the grave, Christine slid out of the room.

Renee tried to ignore what she'd heard. Her papa had _killed _people. Had threatened the viscount. But he was sobbing, begging for forgiveness, coughing and weak, and shaking, and _so hot! _His fever had spiked, and Renee gasped when she felt his skin almost burning hers through her dress.

She cried out for Christine, and Meg, and Marcus, screaming for them to come at once.

"He's _burning up!" _she gasped, panicked.

Christine took charge at once.

"Marcus, get water running - make sure it is icy cold. Meg, help me undress him. His fever is too high. We must cool him down."

"What can I do?" Renee asked suddenly, wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked up at Christine.

"You must keep him calm," Christine instructed. Renee nodded, and turned to Erik.

"Papa," she said slowly, softly, as though calming a frightened horse (Erik was apparently in the throws of another hallucination; his eyes were huge, and frightened, and he kept muttering about his lair, and other things only he knew about.). "Papa, look at me. It's alright. I'm here. Madame de Chagny is here. We have to get you cooled down, Papa."

Erik leaned away fearfully, until his eyes rested on Christine. Faster than anyone could think, Erik jumped up, grabbing Christine's shoulders, shaking her.

"_Your chains are still MINE!" _he snarled. _"You belong to ME!" _

After the outburst, he pulled in a shuddering gasp, and collapsed forward with a weak groan, unconscious.

Sobbing again, Renee grabbed onto the Phantom, and pulled him close to her.

Christine looked with pity on the scene before her. Erik had only barely returned to consciousness, and he was whimpering something about gypsies. She felt shame for thinking he was a threat. Even without the power of his voice - after he had stopped singing to _her, _Christine had returned to her senses, and been afraid - Renee cried for him, held him close, begging him, as her father - not her 'angel', her _papa - _to pull through. She knelt, and helped him to the small washroom attached to the main dressing room.

Renee refused to leave Erik's side as he lay in the ice water. She insisted on staying with Erik. Though Christine still had worries and reservations, she could not bring herself to tear the girl away from him; Erik was sobbing, clinging to Renee's hand, telling her in a frail, cracking voice that she was such a good girl for staying with him; that she was a darling, and he loved her so much.

When Renee gently rested her head against his shoulder, Erik raised a wet, shaking hand to stroke her brown hair lovingly, weakly attempting to sing. It broke Christine's heart, in a way. She could see in his actions the Erik she'd caught fleeting glimpses of during her time as a singer here at the opera house.

But those days were behind her. She had not sung since the night of 'Don Juan'. At first, she had not wanted to, her mind centered around Erik and how, somehow, at heart, she still missed him. Then, there was the baby, and Raoul had tried to get her to forget its loss and just _move on! _That was when she knew she'd made a mistake. The viscount wasn't the one she should have married. But she hadn't thought Erik was the one she should have, either. She supposed she just hadn't found the man for her yet.

"Re....nee," Erik rasped, wheezing weakly. "M-my girl..... sweetest child..... so loving.... you s-saved me...."

"Papa, hush," Renee said gently. "You're unwell. You need to rest. I'll bee right here."

"So..... kind," Erik whispered. In a near-silent murmur, he said something only Renee could catch; something only Renee would understand.

_"Angle of sweetness, you remind me...... that there's a heart in me..."_

In a soft voice, tears still shining on her cheeks, Renee replied.

_"Angel of guidance, always with me, you guide my life gently."_

"So it was the Phantom who wrote 'The Angel's Daughter," Christine whispered after several moments of silence.

Renee closed her eyes.

"He wrote it about us," she whispered. Then she turned blazing eyes to Christine and Meg. "You do not think I know!" Renee growled. "You did not think I heard?! You will _never _send Papa away! You cannot keep me from him! I am not so blind as to not see!"

Meg visibly blanched, then looked at Christine, who sighed.

"I will not try to," she assured. "I have seen a side of Erik I did not know before. I should not have judged so swiftly. Your papa has full protection while here."

"Christine!" Meg gasped, looking at her friend.

Christine shook her head.

"Part of me loves him still," the ex-singer sighed. "I did not know it until now. I suppose it had always been there. Seeing him again has brought it to the fore. I _do _love him, in some way."

"....Christine...."

Christine started, then knelt at Erik's side.

"I am here, Angel," she whispered, feeling horrid for her earlier swift judgments. "I am here."

"Oh, Christine," Erik rasped. He turned his head, and coughed roughly, a bit of blood staining his illness-paled lips. Her stomach in knots, Christine very gently wiped it away, then smoothed back Erik's sweaty black hair.

"R-raoul .... viscount," the Phantom coughed. "W-where is..... your little l-lover?"

Christine felt a pang at Erik's almost bitter, weak voice. Raoul was clearly still a sore subject for him.

"I left," she whispered. "It did not work."

After a while, Erik began to shiver violently. Meg cautiously touched his forehead.

"His fever is down," she muttered.

Christine nodded, and pulled him up, then helped him shuffle and limp back to the bed. He fell to one more coughing fit before exhaustion gave in, and he slid to the verge of sleep. But for the first time since the incident in the lair, his mind was truly clear, and he all but begged Renee to go and rest.

Christine went to move away as well, but a pale, clammy, trembling hand reached out and grasped feebly at her wrist.

"Christine," Erik croaked, wheezing. His breath rattled in his lungs, and made Christine's stomach clench. "S-stay with me?"

Silently, Christine nodded, and sat on the edge of the Phantom's bed.

"Sleep," she said softly, moving a strand of hair out of Erik's face. Erik leaned into the ginger touch, eyes fluttering closed as a small - very small - smile crossed his face.

"Sing?" he requested hoarsely. Christine smiled, and sang a soft song, wishing things had somehow been different.

_"Sleep now, safe now,  
No one here will harm you.  
I can help you,  
keep you safe and love you.  
Let your tired senses  
abandon their defenses."_

Tenderly, as more forgotten feelings returned, Christine stroked back Erik's hair, caressing his face until she was certain he was calm, and sure of her presence.

_"Calm now, rest now.  
Friends are all around you.  
Sleep in peace, now.  
Let the night surround you.  
Let your dreams begin,  
let your weary mind give in,  
to the darkness and the peace  
of healing sleep._

Let your mind find the music of the night.

_Close your eyes and surrender  
to your sweetest dreams.  
Let sweet rest help to save  
__your weary soul.  
Save your strength for a future  
that is yours.  
And your life will be more  
than e'er before._

_Peace now, hush now,  
Rest is what you need now.  
Close your eyes and  
trust that I am with you.  
Sleep and rest your mind;  
let your weary heart unwind.  
Leave your fears and all  
your worries far behind._

_And find peace in the music of the night._

_Let your mind fly away from all your worldly cares.  
Leave your thoughts for a time when you are strong.  
Let your dreams take you where you long to be.  
Only then, can you be truly free._

_Rest now, hush now,  
I will keep you safe now.  
Go to sleep and  
feel your loved ones 'round you.  
Your spirit may be strong,  
but you're barely holding on.  
Rest, I swear that it will  
help you to be strong._

_Give your cares to the music of the night._

_You alone had made my song take flight.  
I will repay you with music from the night.."_

Erik's eyes remained closed as sleep pulled him completely into its embrace. Just before he lost all sense of the world around him, he managed a weak smile; Christine cared for him. Raoul was out of the picture, she'd said. He had a chance again. The last thing he felt before he completely passed out was a gentle kiss against his own lips, then a warm, soft body settling in beside him before a second, smaller one slid up against his other side.

He had found peace.

XxX  
Yay six chapters! I hope you guys liked this one. Christine's song is to the tune of 'Music of the Night', but much softer, without all the great crescendos. Anyway, review please!


	7. Taking Care

Taking Care  
XxX

Erik woke first that morning, forcing back a coughing fit. As soon as the sensation passed, he thought he'd died. _Christine _was holding him close against her chest, sleeping soundly beside him, while Renee was snuggled up against his back. Ah, heaven.

But, no, he couldn't be dead. His lungs still ached dully, and his chest felt tight. He was hot, and cold, all at once, and though he felt safe sandwiched between his daughter, and his greatest love, he could not find physical comfort.

A stirring behind him alerted the Phantom to Renee's waking. The girl sat up slowly, and smiled when she saw him awake.

"Good morning, Papa," she grinned. "Are you feeling better?"

Erik nodded; it hurt to speak, and he was holding back another coughing fit, as Christine was still asleep. He was lying to Renee, but it was for the best.

"Erik?"

Erik turned his head, and found himself looking into Christine's soft brown eyes. She gave him a caring smile, then gently touched his forehead. The smile at once turned to a frown.

"Renee," she instructed, "get together whatever is necessary for a ginger and cinnamon tea. With honey, please."

Renee nodded, knowing that Christine had found something worrying. She didn't really want to know at the moment, afraid that the almost calm, happiness of the moment would be completely lost. After all, getting her papa medicine was what would have been happening anyway, with his illness, so she could pretend nothing else was going wrong.

She turned down a hallway toward the kitchens of the great opera house. The large room was empty, but that was fine with Renee. She grabbed a kettle, filled it with water, and put it on the stove to boil.

Then Renee started to search. In a cupboard across the room, she found the ginger and honey, but no matter where she looked, she could not find the cinnamon. _It doesn't matter, _Renee told herself. _Ginger and honey in tea will be more than enough to help him, I'm sure._

_Oh! And garlic! Tea _and _a plaster are sure to be more helpful together than one at a time._

Smiling at the thought, she poured the powdered ginger, and the honey into the kettle to steep, then turned to finding garlic, and a mortar and pestle.

Those things weren't that hard to find. After just a minute of searching, Renee had found exactly what she was looking for, and was steadily pounding the garlic to a pulp. As soon as she was done with that, Renee added some water to it, and set the whole concoction on the stove to heat while she went in search of kitchen towels. The doctor had said it would work better - and be less messy, of course - to sandwich the plaster between two layers of thin towels. That, and the plaster was just more effective hot.

Meanwhile, Christine was gently tugging Erik's sweat-soaked nightshirt over his head, and helping him into another one.

"How did you ever let yourself get into this condition, Erik?" Christine muttered, more to herself than the ailing Phantom. She hadn't really expected him to be in any condition to answer, but he did, anyhow.

"I.... I was l-looking for.... Renee," Erik replied hoarsely, coughing weakly.

Christine had noticed that whenever Renee was not around, Erik seemed to let go, as though having the girl who was like a child to him in his sight was his only reason for living anymore. Somewhere in the depths of her heart, Christine knew she was a major part of the problem. Erik had loved her completely, had seen her as his only hope, and she'd just turned away. She wasn't going to make that mistake again.

But that he was so loyal to the girl to go out looking for her when he obviously hadn't been feeling well, it was clear that he wasn't the same, self-centered Erik he used to be. Perhaps something _could _come of this.

"Christine," the Phantom muttered softly, looking pleadingly at Christine. "I've changed. I swear in God's n-name I've changed. Renee is.... like a daughter to me.... I'm so sorry, Christine. I sh-should never...... have threatened the viscount... Forgive me..."

"Hush," Christine sighed. She was still wary of Erik, but the feelings she'd once had for him were returning, too powerfully for her to deny them anymore. Or ignore them, for that matter. She gently pushed back Erik's hair, and smiled faintly. "I had still been willing to stay, if you remember," she told him quietly. "You sent me away."

"I was a d-danger," Erik replied, looking away. "Perhaps I still am."

"Not in your condition now, you aren't," Christine returned, smoothing his hair, even though it was already our of Erik's face. But the Phantom cringed when her hand made contact with the deformed side of his face.

Christine noticed his sharp intake of breath, and her eyes softened. It made her sad that Erik was still so subconscious about his face. Yes, it was different, but that didn't necessarily mean it was bad.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, softly stroking his forehead. He was so warm. Worried, she stood up, and disappeared into the washroom, coming back out a moment later with a wet cloth for Erik's forehead.

Just then, Renee struggled through the door; two thin kitchen towels in the crook of her arm, a steaming bowl in her left hand, a teapot in her right, and a teacup balanced precariously on her head.

Christine wanted to laugh, but it was clear that Renee was in no position to take her focus off the cup on her head; her eyes were drawn up toward the top of their sockets, crossed. She couldn't see the cup from that angle, but she'd see it sooner if it started to fall.

And it did. Just as the cup wavered on Renee's head, Christine reached out and caught it in her hands.

"Thank you," Renee muttered, moving to her father's bedside. She placed the bowl and the teapot down, then placed one of the towels on his chest. She reached into the bowl, and spread a paste that smelled strongly of garlic over the towel, then placed the other one over it. From a pocket in her dress, she pulled bandages, and helped her father sit up enough so she could wrap the bandages over the plaster to hold it in place.

While Renee secured the garlic plaster, Christine poured some of the tea into the cup, and pressed it into Erik's hands. They were shaking, so Christine kept her hands wrapped around his, and guided the cup, and his hands, to his mouth.

Erik drank slowly. He perked up a bit when he tasted the honey. It certainly made his throat feel a bit better.

He smiled faintly, grateful to both the women taking care of him. His Renee, and sweet Christine.

"Papa?" Renee asked gently, one hand touching Erik's shoulder beneath the blankets. "Does this help you?"

It did, actually. Breathing was a bit easier, and his throat wasn't quite so scratchy.

"Yes, sweet one," he smiled. "Thank you. Both," he added, turning a loving look to Christine.

Christine blushed slightly in his gaze, and turned her eyes away. She still wasn't sure about Raoul.

There was so much that had happened between them. She and Raoul had been married. Christine had truly been happy with the viscount. Then there was the baby. Things had gone fine throughout the pregnancy, but the baby had still died. Raoul had wanted her to _forget _her first child's dead body, and _try again. _Just as soon as she'd recovered from the exhaustion of birthing!

That was what had broken their relationship. Honorable as Raoul was, he did not understand a mother's instincts, and the way a mother loved her children. That was why she'd left; the viscount was just too immature to understand. That, and she had never ceased to think of Erik, and what had become of him. Christine knew it hurt Raoul that she thought of him, but she _couldn't _stop thinking about him.

So, their love had eventually been revealed as a different affection. At least from Christine's viewpoint. She wasn't sure about Raoul, as she hadn't seen him in three years. But the time had come to admit the truth; she had feelings for Erik - always _had _had feelings for him - that couldn't be ignored or denied forever. Part of her didn't _want _to ignore those feelings.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Erik started coughing roughly, going horribly pale in the process.

This fit was extremely bad. It wouldn't stop, and when it finally did, Erik's lips were stained with blood, and he was barely conscious. But he had finally brought up some of the muck in his lungs, so perhaps it meant the beginning of the end of everyone's worries.

Christine gently wiped his mouth with a cloth, and threw it into the nearest waste basket. Renee cringed at the thought that Erik was coughing blood. It scared her. Becaue it meant something might bewrong that was worse than his sickness. That was not a pleasing thought.

"Papa?" the teen asked worriedly, looking into the Phantom's eyes. Erik smiled weakly, still wheezing worryingly.

"I.... I'll be alright...." he rasped, voice frail, and cracking.

Renee let out a breath, and fought back tears. She looked at Christine, who was watching the Phantom with an unreadable expression.

She sighed, and looked around the room. Her eye fell on the monkey music box she'd all but forgotten the other day. Now that she saw it, the fact that it was broken returned to her mind, and she stood, crossing the room to get it.

"Madame de Chagny?" she asked, looking to the woman, the music box in her hands. "Do you have any thread?"

"Where did you find that?" Christine whispered, eyes wide and trained on the monkey.

"On the stage," Renee replied. "It was just lying there, looking forlorn and abandoned. They cymbal had come off, so I thought I'd fix it. Then Marcus and I went below in the cellar, and, well, Papa found us.

"He had warned me never to go the catacombs beneath the opera house, but in my curiosity to explore, and my excitement, I forgot."

Renee's eyes turned sad and guilty. "He heard Marcus and I and followed us. We hadn't known he was there until we had made it to the lair across the lake. Then part of the ceiling fell away, and he grew so angry, and worried. I feel as though his condition is _my _fault. Though, I suppose that's because it _is."_

"I'm sure it's not," Christine countered with a gentle smile.

Renee just shook her head, and looked at the monkey music box in her hands.

"I need to fix this," she muttered, more to the music box than Christine.

Christine smiled, and produced a needle and a spool of thread from a pocket in her dress, explaining that she always kept some with her, in case something ripped.

"Your papa made that, you know," she told Renee.

Renee looked from her father to the music box, and smiled.

"I'm not surprised," she sighed, smile still in place. "Papa made the bear I used to sleep with, when I was little."

Christine watched Renee look at Erik. There was so much in the girl' eyes; sadness, pain, fear, dim hope, wistful longing. Sighing, Christine stood, and gently put a hand on Renee's shoulder.

"Why don't you go find someplace peaceful to sew?" she suggested kindly, and with a soft smile. "I'll watch Erik."

Renee nodded, and, with one last, worried look at Erik, left the room.

She wandered along, looking for some place to sit, but in the end, she found her feet pulled her to one of the boxes on the grand tier in the theatre. It was box 5, she noted off-handedly. Not that the observation mattered, though.

Down below, people were on the stage, moving around. Madame Giry was down there, so Renee guessed it was a rehearsal.

It didn't interest her though. She was still upset with Meg. Christine had seen how wrong it was to try to separate Erik and Renee, but Madame Giry had still seemed intent on doing just that. That would be over Renee's dead body, though.

She had just threaded the needle, and was starting to reattach the cymbal, when a warbly, high-pitched voice started vocalizing. Renee jumped out of her skin, and the needle slipped, poking her thumb.

Frowning, Renee looked over the edge of the box, and watched the older woman. They were rehearsing an opera, evidently. Renee was suddenly reminded of the poster about her papa's opera.

_Oh, _please _no, _she thought, cringing when she heard the woman and a rather fat, short man begin to sing the main song between the angel and his child.

Annoyed, Renee decided it was time to do something. She didn't want to be rude, but the woman was butchering her papa's music.

She left the box, and looked around. At the end of the hallway, there was a door to the catwalks and backstage area. Slipping through the unlocked door, Renee made her way to the flies, creeping carefully along the planks of wood. She had heard all about the infamous Phantom of the Opera, but she hadn't considered that he might have been her father (her kind, loving father, who had a traumatic, unspeakable past....).

After a moment of looking around, she found a rope attached to a heavy sandbag. Looking down, Renee found that the space of stage beneath the sandbag was empty. Perfect.

With careful hand, Renee untied the rope, and let go, watching as the sandbag fell about three feet behind the woman, cutting off her singing and causing her to scream.

Several people started yelling about the Opera Ghost, and the Phantom. The people below were now frightened, scrambling all around, and looking up into the rafters. Renee pulled back, hiding a snicker behind her hand, then left back to box five to continue working on the music box.

Laughing, she dropped back into her chair to watch the show. The people were frantic. The woman, who's name was apparently Carlotta, was threatening to quit, and, while several people tried to convince her not to leave, Madame Giry simply looked up to the rafters, then left quickly out the side of the stage.

Back in Carlotta's old room, Christine was very tenderly wiping the sweat from Erik's face, shoulders, and chest. She had changed his plaster, and given him more of the tea to help his throat. The rhythmic strokes had calmed Erik into a light doze. His eyes were still slightly open, but his breathing was the deep, even breaths of sleep.

His rest was just starting to deepen when the door flew open, and an enraged Meg, stormed in, pointing angrily and glaring at Erik.

"_What did you DO?" _she snarled.

Christine jumped up to restrain her friend.

"You could have _KILLED _her!" Meg went on, furious. "He nearly dropped a fifty pound sandbag on Carlotta's head!"

Christine looked from Meg to Erik. That wasn't possible.

"Christine, we should have handed him to the police the moment he stumbled through these doors!"

Christine shook her head.

"Christine!"

"...Christine...?'

"Meg, he's been here the entire time," Christine said rationally. "He's too ill to stand on his own, let alone escape me, and make it to the theatre unseen. Erik has done nothing."

"Then what do I tell _them?!?!" _Meg demanded. "Everyone in that theatre is screaming about the Opera Ghost, and Carlotta is threatening to leave!"

"It... w-wasn't me," Erik rasped, coughing.

"Then _who?" _Meg hissed. "Christine, you _know _as well as I do what he can do! He easily could have enchanted you, and run off." With an angry sniff, Meg turned up her nose, then glared askance at Erik. "I say he's _faking! _He wants revenge, Christine! It's all monsters know."

"He's _NOT A MONSTER!" _Christine cried, moving between Meg and Erik. Erik started coughing again, violently, hacking and almost choking.

Christine went to him at once, shooting a final glare at Meg.

"Leave," she growled as she helped Erik sit up, and pounded his back to help dislodge whatever it was that was stuck in his inflamed throat. The Phantom pulled in a gurgling gasp, then threw up what little was in his stomach.

"This is _your _fault!" Christine snapped. "I had him resting, and peaceful! Then _you _came charging in with false accusations! Get out, Meg!"

The anger and pain in Christine's eyes made Meg leave. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Christine turned back to Erik. He was gasping, gulping air weakly into his mucus-filled lungs. He coughed, wheezing, and shaking. Christine let him lay back, and took the covers off the bed, to change them for clean ones.

Heaping the dirty blankets and sheets by the door, Christine moved to the cabinets, and pulled out fresh bedclothes, tucking them all into the bed around Erik's body. He was so worryingly thin, and pale. Gently, she sat beside him on the bed, and pulled him into her arms, humming softly in hopes of calming him.

The door opened, and Christine was ready for another round with Meg, but Renee wandered in, eyes glowing, a snicker down deep in her throat. Erik's eyes narrowed.

"Renee..."

"Yes, Papa?" the girl asked innocently, walking forward. "How are you feeling?"

Erik glared. Christine got the feeling this was something she didn't want to know about.

Then it felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck her; it was _Renee _that had dropped the sandbag. She knew it couldn't have been Erik. Wrong as it was, it was funny.

Standing, Christine silently left the room, before she burst out laughing.

Erik seemed to have made the connection as well, and his eyes remained narrowed as he looked at Renee.

"_What did you do?"_

Renee let out a nervous laugh.

"I, well, I might have 'accidentally' undid a rope and let a sandbag fall. I made sure it didn't hit her, though," she added quickly. "It fell a good three feet behind her. Besides," she continued, "Carlotta or whoever she is, was ruining your opera. I _had _to do something. Good God above, but she sounds worse than a dying peacock."

"Renee," Erik rasped. "That was _wrong." _The slightest trace of a smile ghosted across his lips. "Brilliant, but w-wrong..."

Renee barked out a sudden laugh, head thrown back.

"You should have _heard _them _scream, _Papa!" she laughed.

Erik grinned faintly. So long as Renee had not hurt, or intended to hurt, anyone, it wasn't a true problem.

"D-don't make... a habit of this, Renee.." her father warned. He coughed, and reached for the cloth handkerchief on the bedside table. Renee grabbed it, and placed it into his hand.

Erik wiped his mouth, frowning slightly at the blood-tinted mucus - or rather, mucus-tinted blood. Renee took the cloth when he was done with it, and put it aside to be washed later.

"Papa?" she asked, all amusement at the sandbag incident gone. Her eyes were nervous, and frightened. There had been quite a bit of blood on the handkerchief.

Erik flashed a fragile smile.

"I'll l-live," he murmured, suddenly so tired. His eyes slid closed on their own, his hand resting on Renee's.

Renee sighed. No matter what happened, she'd be here for her papa. She wasn't going to leave any time soon. She'd take care of him.

The door creaked, and Christine wandered into the room. She saw the blood on the cloth on the night-table, and looked worriedly from Erik to Renee. The Phantom's labored, ratlling, wheezy breaths assured her that he was still alive.

"Renee?" she asked softly, coming to stand beside the girl.

"He's not getting better," Renee muttered.

Christine's eye turned soft. "Yes, he is."

"Not fast enough." Renee turned tearful eyes up to Christine. "Anything could happen, Madame de Chagny. _Anything! _Christmas is coming! It would be _awful _if he were ill on Christmas!"

"He won't be," Christine stated firmly. "We'll make sure of it. We'll take care of him."

Renee nodded, and tucked the blankets tight around Erik's shoulders, pulling them up to his chin. He would get better; Christine and Renee would take care of him.

XxX  
Chapter seven down! Woot! Hope you all liked it. Review, please!


	8. Say

Say  
XxX

_Erik was alone, now. At least his mother hadn't let her new lover beat him again. The last time, he'd nearly killed Erik. _

_Tears ran slowly down Erik's face. He was no fool. His mother despised him. He'd seen other children from his attic window with their mothers. The mothers would hug, and kiss their little ones, telling them how good they were, that they loved them and were proud._

_Erik's mother never said such things. Rather than lavishing attention on her only child, she ignored him, locked him in the attic, and only ever had anything to do with him when it was to bring him food, or if he was sick - which was quite often._

_Erik coughed hoarsely, choking on his tears as he cradled his injured hand. Mother had nearly broken the fine, fragile fingers._

_Sitting curled into the corner of the attic, Erik sobbed, quiet and alone. All but forgotten._

_He did not hate his mother, though. He couldn't. He could see why she was that way with him. He was a demon; a monster. He knew. He'd seen his reflection once, and that was it. Only his lost father had ever shown him kindness._

_His father. Erik's memories of him were few; he'd died when the boy was small. But Father had been pale and weak, just like Erik, except Erik was deformed. His father was not. _

_His father had been kinder. But there was little the man could have done for his son; frail and sickly as he was, the man had needed care almost constantly. Erik remembered that his father had had something called 'asthma', and whatever it was, the doctor had continued, the parents were lucky their only son did not have it._

_Erik remembered his father's face, most. It had been fair, and fine; delicate. Hair black as the ink he'd used when he gave Erik his first, and only, writing lesson, and eyes blue as a summer sky. Erik had his mother's eyes._

_His mother. No, he did not hate her. He could understand her fear of him. Neither of his parents had been at all deformed, but Erik was. He could see why she thought it was the Devil. Maybe he _was _the Devil. Maybe that was why Father had died, that winter, so long ago, leaving a four-year-old Erik to his insane-with-fear mother._

_But it didn't matter. _

_Years flew, and suddenly, Erik was someplace wholly unfamiliar. Trapped in a cage, laughed, jeered at by a large crowed, while a man beat him, whipped him enough to leave scars, and pulled off the sack that had replaced the mask his mother had made him wear the first ten years of his life._

_So many laughed cruelly, not caring a damn about the feelings of a young, teen-aged boy with no hope. _

_Then _she _was there. Watching him with silent pity. He reached out to her, called for her, voice weak, eyes and heart desperate;_

_"Christine!" he gasped. "Help me!"_

_-_

Christine sighed as she gently wiped the cold cloth over Erik' sweating face. His fever had jumped sometime during the night, and if it had not started coming down again when she thought to pull back the blankets, and sponge him down - he was too weak to sit on his own, let alone walk, even with Christine's help, to the tub in the washroom - she would have panicked.

Though his temperature was down, it was still worryingly high. Caught in the throws of some fever-induced nightmare, Erik tossed, becoming tangled almost helplessly in the blankets. The coughing had increased as well. Though, more blood than anything else came up.

His illness was really starting to worry Christine. Now that she could see which side of his personality - the gentle, caring angel that she'd seen every once in a while - had won the internal battle that had been raging in him during their time together, she had no trouble admitting - and once he was better, acting - on the feelings she'd always had for him.

But she was concerned. It had been a good five days since Erik had stumbled through the front doors, ill, and desperate to find his Renee. Five days, and no improvement, only a horrid worsening of his condition. It was true that the tea and plasters helped, but not enough. Erik was fading, and Christine didn't know what more she could do to bring him back to them.

And then there was Meg. Oh, Christine prayed she wouldn't do anything rash. That would be wrong. Erik had changed, and, while Christine could understand Meg's reservations - in some dark corner of her mind, she still had her own - she would not let the dance teacher send for the police.

Erik moaned weakly, tossing, and whispering.

_"...christine....." _he mumbled, frowning in his sleep.

He became suddenly agitated, calling out for Christine in a frightened, desperate voice.

"Erik, hush," Christine said gently, leaning close to his face, resting her hand on his malformed cheek. "I'm here. Christine is here, Angel. It's alright."

This seemed to calm Erik, and he stopped thrashing, eyes slowly fluttering open. Then he gasped, terrified, and like small child. He clung to Christine, sobbing about how frightened he'd been. Why hadn't she come to him when he was in the cage? He'd seen her. _Why hadn't she helped him?_

"Erik," she cooed softly. "I'm here. I will always help you." She looked at him, silent for a moment. "I love you."

Tears filled the Phantom's eyes again as he clung to her. his mind was stuck on the cruelty of his past; his mother, whom he had adored, but who hated him; the gypsies, who had beaten him, used him to make a quick profit, as though her were some animal.

Christine's heart ached at the pain in Erik's voice. She had known life had not been easy for him, but she hadn't known quite the extent of his pain. To hear him whimper about it, trembling, and afraid, as though the gypsies and his mother might come back any moment, to abuse him again; it was not pleasant.

Christine felt tears in her eyes. She loved Erik. She loved the man who had once been a monster. And she cried for the pain of his past. But more than that, she wanted him to know that such horrors would not be in his future. She loved him. She would take care of him; keep him safe forever.

So she sang; soft and gentle, in an attempt to calm him, and soothe his fears away. He had to know she loved him. She was part of his pain, and she hated it. She knew some of the horror in his eyes was because of her, but she would do her best to reverse that. So she sang.

_"No more talk  
of darkness,  
Forget these  
wide-eyed fears.  
I'm here,  
nothing can harm you -  
my words will  
warm and calm you."_

Erik's eyes widened at first, then he clung tighter to Christine, sobbing as she sang to him.

_"Let me be  
your freedom,  
let daylight  
dry your tears.  
I'm here,  
with you, beside you,  
to guard you  
and to guide you . . ."_

His voice was frail; trembling weak, and terrified when he answered her, his blue eyes pleading.

_"Say you love me  
every  
waking moment,  
turn my head  
with talk of summertime . . ._

_Say you need me  
with you,  
now and always . . .  
promise me that all  
you say is true -  
that's all I ask  
of you . . ."_

There was a desperateness in his voice and eyes that pained Christine. She was his one and only hope for love. She would not leave him. Never again.

_"Let me be  
your shelter,  
let me  
be your light.  
You're safe:  
No-one will find you  
your fears are  
far behind you . . ."_

As she sang, she rocked slightly, holding Erik close, stroking his damp black hair. His next words made her tears fall.

_"All I want  
is freedom,  
a world with  
no more night . . .  
and you  
always beside me  
to hold me  
and to hide me . . ."_

As his voice trembled on, she pressed him closer, holding his head against her chest, resting her chin in his midnight locks. She never wanted to hear such pain and pleading uncertainty in his voice again.

_"Say you'll share with  
me one  
love, one lifetime . . .  
lead me, save me  
from my solitude. . ."_

His voice was that of a lonely child. No confidence, only fear of rejection, begging to be loved.

_"Say you need me  
with you  
here, beside you . . .  
anywhere you go,  
let me go too -  
Christine,  
that's all I ask  
of you . . ._

_Say you'll share with  
me one  
love, one lifetime . . .  
say the word  
and I will follow you . . ._

_Share each day with  
me, each  
night, each morning . . ._

_Say you love me . . ."_

_"I swear I do," _Christine assured in answer to that desperate, whispered plea. She did love him. God, she loved him.

_"Love me -  
that's all I ask  
of you . . ."_

At last, there was a tinge of sureness in his hoarse voice. It wasn't as trembling, and broken as it had been when he'd begged her to tell him she loved him.

_"Anywhere you go  
let me go too . . .  
Love me/Christine;  
that's all I ask  
of you . . ."_

Christine kissed him tenderly, her lips pressing to his. Erik thought his heart would burst right then and there. The one person he had ever loved, his beautiful Christine, finally returned his feelings.

"Don't think about your past, Erik," she said softly, fondly. "I see now that I've always loved you. I won't ever leave you. Understand? I'll always be here."

Erik nodded, coughing. He groaned when the fit passed, leaning heavily against Christine, unable to move on his own, his entire body shaking with weakness, and cold. Christine felt his forehead; his fever was still so high. But it had lowered somewhat, which was good. She didn't know what she'd do if it spiked again (it would most likely mean the death of Erik if such a thing were to happen now, with his temperature already so high).

Christine sighed, and let him lay down. She crossed to the fireplace, where a fire was kept going almost every minute to help keep Erik warm. There was a small pot on the hearth, full of the garlic paste for the plaster. Mustard seads had been added to the mix to make it more effective in loosening up the mucus in an attempt to help him recover sooner.

Returning to the bed, she spread the mixture out on one of the thin towels, and placed it on Erik's chest. Then she laid the other towel over the plaster, and held him up until she'd gotten the bandages tied around him.

As he lay back down, Erik's eyes went impossible wide, and he grabbed for Christine's wrist to get her attention, gasping ineffectually to get air into his lungs.

"Erik?" Christine asked, frightened by this sudden turn.

"C-can't....... b..... breathe," he choked. "....Chris....tine..... h-help.."

Christine pulled him forward, and the Phantom launched into a ragged coughing fit, sounding like he was trying to hack up a lung. Christine held him, rubbed his back in firm, soothing circles. He was terrified, she could see it. He wa frightened because he couldn't breathe. That _was _something to worry about.

But once the coughs passed, Erik managed to pull in a shaking, rattling breath, feeling weak, and drained. He leaned into Christine's gentle hold, loving her more than ever. He was in a horrible state. He must have looked worse than she'd ever seen him. He was certain anyone else would have run, but Christine stayed. She sat at his side, and cared for him.

While Christine held Erik, crooning soothing words of love and comfort to him, Renee wandered into the room, blinking, and looking a bit sleepy. It was only about midmorning, and during the night, the commotion caused by Erik's rise in temperature, and Carlotta' screaching about her dressing room had woken Renee, who'd stayed up until nearly dawn, when one of the stage hands carried her back to her room, under the watchful eye of Marcus.

Marcus and Renee had grown closer over the last few days, and following shortly after her, Marcus wandered into the room, eyes shaddowed and heavy.

"Papa?" Renee whispered, going at once to his side. "What happened?" she asked Christine. "How has he been?"

"R-Re....Renee.." Erik muttered, reaching a shaking hand out to his child. She took his hand, and clung to it.

"I'm here, Papa," she assured. "I'm right here."

"M-my Renee..."

"Shh, Papa," Renee whispered as Christine piled more pillows behind him, then let him lay down. "It's alright."

Renee tucked the blankets up around the Phantom, and sighed. Why had this all happened? Why had her Papa gotten sick? It wasn't fair. And yet, it was her entire fault for going to the surface when she knew he was starting to fall ill.

"Has he improved?" Marcus asked Christine, concern in his eyes.

"A bit, yes," Christine replied. "Not enough, though." Frustraited, she smacked the matress, tears welling in her eye. "Why won't he get better?"

"I understand," Renee whispered to the floor. "You care about him, and you physically can't picture living without him. It's just not there. Not a possibility. But your heart knows it is, however much you don't want to accept it."

"Renee...."

"It's alright, Marcus," Renee sighed. "It hurts very much to think of him dying, but I won't let that happen."

A determined light entered the teen's eye, and she picked up the teapot and the cup, and poured the tea, then pressed the mug to Erik's lips.

He drank slowly, savoring the soothing affect the honey had on his throat. The garlic and mustard seed plaster was doing its work, as well; breathing was a bit easier, though the rattling in his lungs was more pronounced.

He coughed, and when Christine handed him a handkercheif, he wiped phlegm from his mouth, glad to get the nasty-tating yuck out of his body.

He suddenly seemed so urgent, and turned to Christine, eyes wide and tearful, pleading.

_"Christine..... I-I love..... you.." _he sang quietly.

"Oh, Erik," Christine sighed, pulling him into her arms again, and kissing his forehead. "I love you, as well. But rest, now," she instructed, laying him back against the pillows, and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

Erik nodded like an innocent child, letting his eyes close a sleep took over him.

The room was silent then, except for the rattling, wheezing sounds of Erik's strained, shallow breathing. He really was bad off.

Renee closed her eyes for a long moment, then leaned forward, and kissed Erik's forehead.

"Rest well, Papa," she whispered. "And get better soon."

Standing, she walked calmly to the door, body straight, and tall, though Christine and Marcus could both see the tenseness in her eyes.

Renee broke into tears the moment she left the room.

Marcus tried to go after her, but she cried that she wanted to be alone, and raced for the room she'd been allowed when she'd been brought here.

Reaching her bed, she felt about beneath it. The other day, she'd discovered a tunnel from the room beneath hers that led to the sewers near her home. She'd taken the bear her papa had made her so long ago, and brought it back to the opera house. She hugged it now, desperate, and like a small child, fat tears of fear and pain trailing down her face.

The door opened an hour later, after all the tears Renee could possibly cry had been shed, and all she could do now was sob silently, her face dry, but stained by her recent tears.

It was Marcus that sat beside her, and gently touched her shoulder.

He said nothing for the longest time, then sighed.

"Whatever happens," he whispered quietly. "I will always take care of you. I promise you that now, and if things go badly, and your papa looks like dying, I will promise him the same."

Renee slowly looked up, a weak, wan smile on her face.

"We'll always have each other, my friend," Marcus concluded, smiling his own small smile. Renee threw her arms around his neck, and Marcus returned the embrace as a caring friend.

It felt nice to be held with care. Oh, Renee knew her father cared; he'd held her tenderly many times. But his was a father's hold. This was something new, and entirely different.

"You will _never _be alone," Marcus said firmly. At the same time, though, he cursed himself. _I care for you! _he wanted to shout. _I think I may even be starting to _love _you!_

But the words remained in his head, unspoken, and he cursed himself for being to shy, for witholding. Christine had said what she wanted to say; why couldn't he?

XxX  
Now we get somewhere! Feelings! Yay! I hope you all liked this chapter, and review, please!


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